Deja Vu
by Racey
Summary: Their connection is deeper than either of them could have ever imagined. AU, yaoi, swearing, violence.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach or the NY Yankees...

Onwards...

_I think I've been here before, I think I've run into you_

_I know the things that you do_

_'Cuz this is deja vu_

_U-whoa-ohh_

_This is deja vu_

_U-whoa-ohh_

_This is deja vu_

XOXOXO

There was something strange about this whole situation; he just kept having that nagging sensation of deja vu. Every time he left the stadium, he saw him, always seated by one of the many benches lining the outside of the magnificent structure, always sipping nonchalantly from a bottle of water. It was like a specific dream stuck on repeat, teasing him and stoking the flames of his curiosity.

Grimmjow hiked his navy blue duffel bag higher on his right shoulder, passing the shorter orange-haired man and shooting him a cursory glance from the corner of his eye. The guy never paid him any mind, but Grimmjow thought it was a bit disconcerting that he was always there whenever he decided to leave and head out for the bus that would take him to whatever hotel the team was occupying for the night. Grimmjow tugged his navy blue fitted cap down low over his brow, trying to cover his eyes and wild, bright blue hair, hoping – as usual – that no fans spotted him before he could make it to his destination.

And then, something weird happened.

_The orange-haired man spoke_.

"Yo! Ya dropped somethin'!" he called, making Grimmjow glance uncertainly over his shoulder.

Their eyes locked as the shorter man jogged up to him and stooped to retrieve a leather, navy blue and white glove from the concrete ground of the stadium's exterior. Grimmjow felt his breath hitch as he studied the other man more critically than he normally would anyone else. The man rose to his full height, which was probably around 5'9", and handed Grimmjow the glove without a care in the world.

_Didn't this guy know who he was?_

Grimmjow clutched the glove and nodded absently as he took in the straight, but upturned nose, the tanned skin, the brown freckles dusting high cheeks, the obnoxiously bright, orange hair and the pecan-brown eyes that seemed to shimmer in the moonlight casting over them. The guy nodded back and ran a hand through that spiky, unruly hair before turning on his heel and heading back to the bench he'd been frequenting.

Grimmjow had to resist the urge to drop his jaw in astonishment. He'd never been treated that indifferently before and it parked him like a car. He hadn't been prepared to be brushed to the side as if he weren't the captain of one of the most popular baseball teams in America. He hadn't been prepared to be treated like a regular human being and it threw him off track as he watched the orange-haired man walk back to his bench and nab his bottle of water, throwing it back to chug the rest of its contents.

Grimmjow shook his head and turned away from the baffling man, immersing himself in his thoughts. He was used to being hit on by everything that moved and breathed oxygen, men and women alike, but this man had treated him like he wasn't a famous baseball player. _Like his name didn't ring bells_. It was appalling and almost insulting.

He dragged himself down the ramp and towards the huge bus parked at the curb. Grimmjow was sure this bus was no different than any of the rest that boasted obscene amounts of luxury and ridiculous amounts of ass-kissery. He grinned, excited to be pampered after his life of hard living, eating cream of wheat for breakfast, lunch AND dinner and drinking glasses of sugar water for nearly twelve years of his life. Once he'd reached high school, things had changed for the better. The baseball coach had discovered his love of the sport and nurtured him into a monster.

Grimmjow had been known as a hard worker for the endurance of his career and through all four years of high school and all four years of University, he'd been a first baseman. Finally, in college, a professional recruiter had offered him a contract with the New York Yankees and he'd snatched it without hesitation. An opportunity like that was once in a lifetime and he wasn't about to turn down one of the most prestigious baseball teams in America.

_Hell no_.

He'd joined the team as the first baseman and third batter up, using the number "6" and during his first season, he'd quickly been labeled as a slugger with excellent reflexes. His contract was for eight years at the price of 180 million dollars. He had a nice house in Fort Lee, New Jersey, but he lived alone, his teammates often teasing him about his single status.

_He didn't care, though_. He wasn't in a rush to change things, since most people only viewed him as a paycheck to begin with and to top it all off, he was gay. That was a tricky situation in itself in the spotlight and he wasn't willing to bring drama his way just yet.

Grimmjow boarded the black coach bus, solemnly passing the manager and head coach, who was seated at the very front, already dozing off, chin touching his chest and neck wobbling like a toddler. Grimmjow took a seat at the very back, ignoring his teammates in favor of his iPod. He stuck a pair of electric blue buds in his ears and reclined against the gray, plush seats, his eyes focused out the window and trained on an orange-haired male that intrigued him to no end.

Grimmjow couldn't figure out what it was about the man that tickled his interest bone, but he was kind of determined to find out. _Not to mention, he'd had around three or four dreams about an orange-haired and brown-eyed guy before actually seeing him, so every time he did see him, he had the unmistakable feeling of deja vu_. Grimmjow growled under his breath as he stared at the man, who was standing from the bench he'd been seated on and heading for the stadium entrance. He had on a pair of navy blue sweats and a navy blue, long-sleeved t-shirt, with the Yankee logo situated in the left corner of it. A navy blue fitted cap had been tugged over his bright locks, the white NY Yankee logo standing out starkly as he strode through the tall doors and into the depths of the stadium, beyond Grimmjow's vision. Grimmjow grunted, but continued to watch the stadium, hoping the orange-haired man would reappear.

"Grimmjow, you got some gum?" a tall, red-haired male asked, leaning over the seat in front of Grimmjow.

He scowled, not willing to root through his duffel bag, where he'd stored his peppermint flavored, sugar-free gum. Instead, he glanced back out the window, hoping his fellow teammate would get the picture.

_Unfortunately, he didn't_.

"Yeah? No?"

Grimmjow curled his upper lip back and pinned the red head with a death glare. "Why dontcha get yer own, Renji?"

Renji Abarai sucked his teeth and arched a brow. "Fuck's yer problem? Gimme some gum, Grimmjow. Stop fuckin' playin'."

Grimmjow stared at Renji blankly, a vein throbbing at his temple as he tried to rein in his anger. "I ain't playin'," he growled, glaring at the bat catcher.

Renji chuckled and held out a large hand. "C'mon, Grimmy. Give up the goods."

Grimmjow shook his head, but dug into his duffel bag for the pack of gum he'd stashed there earlier, retrieved a stick and tossed it over the seat at the red head. Renji sucked his teeth and dropped down into his seat, mumbling under his breath about evil teammates.

Grimmjow just laughed. Renji was annoying as hell, but also one of the funniest men he'd ever met. He had been labeled the team clown, his antics legendary and he was one hell of a bat catcher, ruling the area behind the home plate like a tyrant. He usually kept his long, bright red hair back in a braid that reached his waist and he was known for his tattoos almost as much as he was known for being an idiot.

Grimmjow gave his attention back to the window and was surprised to see the orange-haired man from his dreams and more recently his reality, leaving the stadium, a navy blue duffel bag slung over his left shoulder. He was scowling underneath the cap he wore and his stride was confident, bordering on cocky, very nearly a swagger if Grimmjow looked closely.

_Who the hell was that guy?_

Grimmjow shook his head as he watched the guy travel down the ramp and cross the blocked off street towards the subway entrance. He didn't like being this confused over someone he didn't even know, but he had a feeling something big was about to happen.

_Something he would be completely unprepared for_.

XOXOXO

Ichigo made his way down the stairs of the subway, the cement damp from kami knows what, the air reeking of oil, piss, cigarette and marijuana smoke and the eerie echoing of his footsteps sending the usual chills down his spine. He hustled down another flight of stairs, clutching his Metro card and hoping that he hadn't missed the D train. Skipping the last two stairs, he landed on the lower level and breathed a deep sigh of relief – hindsight telling him that that wasn't such a good idea – when he realized the train hadn't arrived yet.

_He'd made it in time_.

_JUST in time actually_, he thought as the loud shrieking and rumbling of an approaching train echoed throughout the lower level. He hadn't even had a chance to grab a seat on one of the ancient, wooden benches before the train was rocketing into sight. Ichigo ambled over to the platform edge, waited until the silver car came to a complete stop and the doors slid open. Thankfully, because of the late hour, there weren't many riders, which left him the option of sitting alone and not having to stress over carrying on a pointless conversation with a complete stranger.

Ever since he'd moved to New Jersey from Japan, it had taken a lot of adjusting to become somewhat accustomed to the American way of life. From the hustle and bustle of New York, to the subdued, but almost as busy nature of Teaneck, New Jersey, it all had his head reeling. _Americans did things so differently_. They ate differently, they talked differently, they treated one another differently and their personalities were incredibly alien to him as well.

Ichigo settled against the window of a double seat close to the car's doors. The metal contraption rocked perilously side to side like a small tugboat caught in a hurricane as it careened along the tracks. Bright blue lights appeared in intervals in the darkened tunnels of the subway, reminding him of the tall captain of the baseball team he would soon be joining.

Ichigo had been silently offered a contract by the New York Yankees' recruiter while he'd still been in Karakura, Japan, playing for his University. His position as center fielder had apparently caught the man's attention and since the Yankees' center fielder's contract was up soon, Ichigo had been approached. He grinned in remembrance. He had enjoyed telling his old man and younger sisters the news; they had always been big fans of the sport and supported him like rabid yaoi fan-girls.

As soon as he'd accepted the offer, the recruiter had informed him of the fact that the team was unaware of his recruitment. They only knew that the center fielder was going to be traded since his contract was nearly over and the manager of the team was dissatisfied with the man's performance. Ichigo hadn't given a shit. He had a chance to play the game he loved for a living (a very good one might he add) for a very popular team in America, where the sport had been born as an official national pastime.

He'd made the move to America under the agreement that until everything had been taken care of – paperwork for the contract (including the paperwork dealing with his citizenship) and the official trade of the current center fielder – Ichigo would reside on the sidelines as a regular person, having no more status than an everyday spectator.

_And that was where the present day found him_.

He went to every one of the Yankees' games and used public transportation to get around, rather than the gray, 2011 Lexus he'd been offered by the recruiter. If he needed to have a low profile, then turning down the luxurious automobile had been the smarter option. _Not that it hadn't nearly killed him to do so_.

Ichigo was also infinitely grateful that he'd studied English in University and in high school, making him overly fluent in the language. Of course, he had a slight accent, but he was able to communicate with others without sounding like the cliché Japanese tourist. After years of watching American movies and shows, watching baseball in English on the internet, he'd even picked up the slang that some used.

Ichigo sighed as the train pulled to a jerky stop, his body leaning forward involuntarily. He had two more stops to go before he reached the bus station that would lead him to his home in New Jersey. That had been one thing he'd needed to accept from the generous recruiter: a place to stay. Being a broke college student back in Japan hadn't been promising, so the recruiter, a pink-haired man named Szayel Aporro Grantz, had given him sort of an allowance that included rent and money for food and other necessities.

It was very convenient and Ichigo was grateful, as well as a bit conceited. To think one of the most admired teams of baseball in America was going to such lengths to acquire him as a player, stroked the hell out of his ego and lent an extra spring to his step. When he thought about the offer in his contract, his chest tightened and his stomach lurched with joy. Eight years for 115 million dollars. Ichigo couldn't even begin to fathom what he would do with all that money, aside from bringing his old man and little sisters to America. _That was a given_. _That and helping his old man start a new clinic and whatnot_. Other than that, though, Ichigo had no clue.

The train slid to a stop again and Ichigo glanced up, taking note of the location before letting his attention wander again. His thoughts went back to the blue-haired Yankees' captain. He was tall, maybe 6'2", 6'3" and he was built like an architectural masterpiece, stacked with muscles and graced with cat-like reflexes, speed and the strength of Hercules. Ichigo grinned as he remembered the affronted look he'd received when he'd retrieved the man's fallen batting glove. He knew the man was used to being worshiped and slobbered over and truthfully, it had taken a lot of force and effort on his part not to engage in such activity.

_But the reward had been great_.

The man, Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, also captain and number "6" on the team, had stared at him as if Ichigo had just grown another limb from the top of his head. Seeing the man caught so off guard had been delightful and intriguing, those normally devilish and laughing atmospheric blue eyes wide with unbridled shock underneath the bill of his fitted cap. Ichigo had found himself fighting the urge to laugh out loud and further insult the man's ego as he turned and left the man staring at his back.

All amusement aside, Ichigo had been a little wigged out when he'd first lain eyes on the tall ball-player and that had been while he'd still been in Japan. He remembered having strange dreams of a man with blue hair and blue eyes, but never thought anything of it, until he'd seen Grimmjow on TV during one of the Yankees' baseball games. He'd been a rookie at the time and just starting his career with the popular team, but his appearance had certainly floored Ichigo. He hadn't known what to make of the situation and, truthfully, he still didn't. Things had only grown worse once he'd moved to America and had seen the taller man in person.

_The feeling was unsettling and rather disturbing_.

The train pulled to a stop and Ichigo rose from the hard seat, exiting through the automatic doors. He stepped onto the platform and hurried to the stairs after shooting a glance at the black G-shock watch on his left wrist. His bus would arrive at the station in two minutes and he still had to reach the other side of the building. Ichigo hugged his duffel bag closer to him as he sprinted up the stairs and through the deserted building, his footsteps slapping rapidly against the beige marbled floor.

He careened around a corner and hurled himself up the narrow escalator, made to fit one person, width-wise, at a time. He didn't wait for the slow, motorized stairs to carry him to the top, instead taking them three at a time. As soon as he reached the top, he spotted the black and white bus idling at the curb and picked up his pace, hoping that the driver would see him in the side mirror.

Luckily, the bus didn't move and he was able to reach it without being left behind to wait for the midnight run. He reached into his sweats pocket and retrieved his monthly bus pass, showing it to the driver before he took a seat all the way at the back of the large vehicle. He rested his feet on the hump that housed the big wheels of the bus and leaned against the chilly window, his breath fogging up the plexiglass. As the grumbling bus hissed away from the curb, Ichigo sighed and closed his eyes.

_He really couldn't wait to start playing for his new team_.

XOXOXO

**Four Months Later**

Grimmjow shifted his feet and leaned back in the metal foldout chair he'd set in front of his space in the locker room. Coach Urahara was standing at the front of the room near the dry erase white board, wearing a ridiculous grin considering they'd just lost the first game in the set of three against the Baltimore Orioles. Grimmjow unbuttoned his dirty jersey, revealing the navy blue, long-sleeved shirt he wore underneath it and then chucked his navy blue fitted cap to the side, angry about his team's loss.

Renji straddled a metal foldout chair backwards and turned his cap to the back, glaring angrily at Urahara as he did so. "There's gotta be a reason yer keepin' us here after we jus' lost, right?" he asked sarcastically, making Gin Ichimaru, the second baseman, snicker softly from in front of his locker space. He leaned against the wall, his thin arms crossed over his wiry chest and eyes slitted shut.

Urahara nodded, his mysterious grin spreading up to his sideburns. Grimmjow scowled at the man's happy expression, his gut churning restlessly. He hated when their coach got like this. It either meant someone was in serious fucking trouble, or they'd actually done something exceptionally good, like won the World Series again. Since they'd just lost a game, someone had to be in deep shit.

"As you all know, Di Roy was traded to Boston and-"

"BOOOO!" Renji interrupted, his cinnamon-colored eyes shining and angry.

"Good riddance," Nnoitra Jiruga grunted from his spot, draped over the bench in front of his locker space. His long body was stretched out on the wooden slab, his endless legs bent at the knees, feet resting on the carpeted floor and arm over his face. He was still fully dressed, but his cap was left on the floor near his feet. His long, jet-black hair spilled over the bench, but still managed to cover his left eye that was already obscured by a white bandana. No one knew why he wore the bandana and no one had been in a hurry to ask about it. The man played great baseball and that was all that mattered. Nnoitra was the short stop, which was funny because he was almost seven feet tall. "We don' need that little fucker," he continued, never even bothering to remove his arm.

"Hear, hear," Starrk Coyote, the third baseman agreed lazily from the floor by his locker space. His shoes were off, as well as his hat and jersey, his long-sleeved, navy blue undershirt and pinstriped uniform pants the only items remaining. Starrk had sleepy gray eyes that drove women insane with lust, a voice that was deeper than the ocean and wavy, sable-brown hair that belonged in a shampoo commercial.

Grimmjow nodded his head in agreement, inwardly wondering why Urahara was bringing up such a sensitive topic. Di Roy had been their center fielder for three years and had recently become uncooperative, demanding a trade. No one thought he would go to Boston, though. Boston was their enemy; their rivalry was legendary and resolute. The blow had been swift and deadly, Di Roy uncaring and giddy to have delivered such a painful jab to the team's ego. It wouldn't have been as bad if Di Roy hadn't actually been extremely good at his position. He was even a decent batter. Now, he was gone, taking his talents to their arch rivals. _It was grossly unjust_.

"What the hell ya bringin' that up for?" Renji shouted, his lips settling into a childish pout.

Urahara maintained his grin, but waved a hand impassively. "Surely you didn't think I was unprepared for such an instance, Abarai?" he asked, gaining the entire team's undivided attention.

Nnoitra uncovered his face and slowly sat up on his bench, Renji's tattooed eyebrows shot into his hairline, Gin uncrossed his arms and opened his slanted eyes, revealing crystal blue irises, Starrk rose to his feet and arched a brow, Ulquiorra Schiffer (who had been his normally silent self), the right fielder, straightened his back and sharpened his jade-green eyes, Shinji Hirako, the left fielder, tilted his head to the side, his blond hair swaying as he did so and the starting pitcher, Shuuhei Hisagi, pushed away from the wall he'd been leaning against, his dark eyes suddenly shimmering with life.

Urahara remained silent as he let his question hang in the air. "What the fuck, Urahara! I wanna know taday!" Shinji snapped, his golden-brown eyes irritated and narrowed.

"Yeah, what he said!" Renji chimed in loudly.

Grimmjow chuckled, but was eagerly awaiting Urahara's next statement. _Did he already have someone in mind to replace Di Roy? He hadn't heard of any recent drafts or recruitment_. At that moment, the recruiter/assistant coach entered the room, wearing a navy blue, long-sleeved dress shirt with a silver tie and navy slacks. His pink hair covered the right side of his brow and silver, rectangular framed glasses were perched on his straight nose. His mustard-colored eyes were alive with excitement as he peered behind him into the hall and held up an elegant hand before closing the door on whoever was on the other side.

Szayel Aporro Grantz pranced into the room and stood beside Urahara as he perused the team members slowly. The suspense had gone far beyond normal levels and was stifling the players, at least that's how Grimmjow felt as he watched the two men at the front of the room. _What were they playing at? Did they know how on edge they were setting everyone?_

Urahara finally cleared his throat and gave the floor to his assistant coach. "I think Szayel can answer your questions better than I can at the moment," he stated.

A smug expression descended over the pink-haired man's face as he grinned. "Yes, I'm well aware of the situation and rest assured we've already remedied it."

Grimmjow stood and placed his hands on his hips, aggravated with the way the bush was being beaten around. "Ya mind getting' ta the point tanight?" he groused.

"Yeah! What he said!" Renji shouted again, this time more forcefully as he too rose from his seat.

Szayel smirked and shook his head exasperatedly as he went back to the door and held it open. "Fine, fine," he said. "Come on in, Ichigo."

Grimmjow frowned. _Ichigo? Who the hell was-_

Before the thought could finish forming in his head, the orange-haired man from his dreams and more recently from in front of the stadium, waltzed into the locker room, head held high, bright hair concealed somewhat under a navy blue fitted cap. He wore navy blue sweats and a navy blue tee with the team logo in the left upper corner, but when he turned to shake the coach's hand, the name and number on the back was unfamiliar.

Kurosaki. 15.

_No way_.

_Was he_..._the new replacement?_

_Impossible_.

Grimmjow studied the shorter man, who, upon closer inspection, was muscular, although slim and sleek and his arms were cut like stone statues. He turned away from the coach and faced the rest of the team, velvety brown eyes dancing with amusement as they locked with Grimmjow's astonished blue. His full lips were turned up ever so slightly in the corners as Szayel introduced him to everyone.

"Yankees, meet the new center fielder, Ichigo Kurosaki."

_Holy shit_.

**~No, this isn't the tragedy I told you about on deviantArt; this is something that just happened. I started writing last night and this story was born.**

**I know a lot of technical rules have been changed to fit the story, but I hope you like it so far. Feedback would be lovely! Thanks for reading! XD**


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach...

Onwards...

"_Res ipsa loquitur."_

The thing speaks for itself.

XOXOXO

_A fierce battle raged around him, but he was oblivious to the bloodthirsty cries of the victors, the depressing moans of the injured, the haunting silence of the dead and defeated and the sharp clanging of metal meeting metal. All of that was completely irrelevant compared to what he was faced with at the moment. Nothing mattered anymore, not even his pathetic excuse of a life._

"_You promised," he accused softly, heart throbbing weakly as he knelt beside a man dressed in glinting, silver and black samurai armor._

_The man gave a tiny smirk, a mere ghost of his usual playfulness. "Don't...look at me...like that," he forced through pale, bloody lips, the crimson staining his teeth._

_The man's chest rose and fell, but only just, as his breathing dwindled and his face lost its healthy, almost golden hue. The man's black-gloved hands rested limply at his sides, blood pooling beneath him and seeping into the flattened, brown grass he lay on. _

"_You PROMISED," he stressed, tears beginning to sting the backs of his eyes._

_The man gave a hoarse chuckle, the sound akin to hay being shifted. "I did," he sighed, sobering, his normally bright, blue eyes deepening to a dark navy as they latched onto his face._

_He cradled the man's head, thankful that he'd already pulled the heavy, armored helmet off. "Y-you knew this would happen," he muttered incredulously, realization of the situation almost overwhelming him. "All this time, you knew we fought for opposing sides. You knew we would one day meet like this in battle. You knew that one of us would die."_

_The man's lips formed a thin line as he nodded shortly. Nothing needed to be said; the motion had been enough. Besides, words were precious as the man's time slipped away, like fine grains of sand in an hourglass. He ran a hand through the man's damp, bright blue hair and allowed his tears to fall, grief arresting him and making it hard to breathe. A cannon boomed in the distance, making him hunch his shoulders, ducking an invisible threat._

"_Remove my gloves," the man whispered, his voice no longer deep and gravelly. _

_He had no choice but to obey. He hastily, but carefully removed the man's black gloves and tossed them to the side, eagerly awaiting the man's next move, next statement. The man slowly raised a hand and rested it on his left cheek, making him choke quietly as the actuality of their predicament sunk in. He bit back a sob and leaned into the touch, refusing to break eye contact._

"_Why do you cry, heart? This is merely a hitch in the path; we are destined," the man uttered, thumb faintly tracing his cheekbone._

_His breath caught in his throat as he stared down at the man, cursing the kami for their cruelty. "Why do I cry, you ask? How can you not know the answer to that question?"_

_A thunderous boom sounded again, this time much closer than before. He squeezed his eyes shut briefly before reopening them and glaring down at his blue-haired lover. This wasn't how things were supposed to happen. After the war, they were supposed to leave for the countryside and live together, where no one could interfere with their love, no one could judge them. The man had promised. Yet, now he was breaking that promise. The man had known the entire length of their affair that he himself fought for the Emperor, while he fought for the people._

_How could the man have deceived him that way? Made him love him, made him promises he'd known he wouldn't be able to keep? His heart burned with dismay and a small amount of betrayal, however, he couldn't bring himself to hate the man. He just couldn't. _

_He loved him too much._

_The man's eyes glazed over and acquired a distant look, his hand falling back to his side, making him panic and shake him, voice breaking as he called the man's name. It seemed to work as the man's glacial eyes focused on his again. "Don't leave me!" he cried. _

_He couldn't bear to have everything end this way._

_The man gave a bloody grin. "We will be," he said softly before sighing his last breath, his eyes becoming far away, completely beyond his reach._

_His heart seemed to launch itself into his mouth as he stared down at his love in disbelief. He couldn't be dead. He couldn't. They had so much loving, so much living to do! He shook the man, none too gently, and screamed his name repeatedly over the din created by the still warring parties. Nothing he did brought life back to the man's once vibrant eyes, though._

_Finally, accepting the fact that the one person he'd ever truly loved had died, he buried his face into the crook of the man's neck, scraping his nose on the metal armor and inhaling the man's unique scent. An anguished howl rose and eclipsed the sounds of battle surrounding him as he drew his lover closer, his heart, first breaking down the middle, then disintegrating into dust._

_He was alone._

Ichigo shot to a sitting position in bed, mouth hanging open in a silent scream, heart pounding out a rapid stuccato and cold sweat clinging to his body. His entire conscience was filled with emotions that didn't belong to him, making his limbs tremble as he tried to catch his breath. He felt like he'd been running a fucking marathon, his chest tight and heart racing like it didn't know the meaning of slow down.

Ichigo grimaced and ran a tremulous hand over his face, eyes slowly adjusting to the dark of his bedroom as he tried in vain to settle down. The dream had been so real, as if he'd been living it, rather than it just being his subconscious putting images together. He'd never been this shaken after a dream, or a nightmare either, for that matter. He didn't know what that had been about, but the dying man had definitely resembled the captain of his team, with his wild, bright blue hair and sea-blue eyes. It had been nearly as disconcerting as realizing that they had been doomed lovers.

Ichigo swung his long legs over the side of his bed and rested his hands on his knees. He was still shaking somewhat, but the unnerving sensation was slowly subsiding, making it easier for him to rise from the bed and make his way over to the floor-to-ceiling window in his bedroom. He stared out at the slumbering town and sighed heavily.

This dream had been different from the others he'd had of Grimmjow Jaegerjaques. The others couldn't even really be classified as dreams, more like random, blurred images that popped to the surface of his mind with amazing clarity every now and then. Ichigo didn't have the faintest clue what to make of this dream. None of it made sense, unless it was just his overactive imagination getting the best of him, which it tended to do at times.

A car growled down the road, capturing his attention briefly, but as soon as it passed, his thoughts went back to the odd dream he'd just had. It had felt frighteningly real, the residue of the dream mourner's emotions still sticking in his craw. Ichigo sighed again and shook his head.

_No matter_; _it had only been a dream_.

XOXOXO

Grimmjow swung the black, wooden bat back and forth, warming up for his turn at bat after Renji. The red head's long braid hung down the middle of his back as he stood straddled over the plate, bat poised over his right shoulder. His navy blue hard helmet covered his left ear, protecting it from any stray balls and his pinstriped uniform fit him like a glove. Grimmjow grinned and looked away.

_He had a feeling Renji wouldn't disappoint and would at least get them a base hit_.

The pitcher wound up and let loose a fastball at ninety-three miles an hour. The crack of the bat meeting the hard ball echoed throughout the stadium and field and sailed over the second baseman's head, making the center fielder scramble after it. Grimmjow grinned again and watched as Renji dropped the bat and sped for first base.

_Perfect base hit_.

Grimmjow removed the padding on his bat and stalked over to the home plate after fixing his black shin-guard to his right leg. G-Dep's "Special Delivery" blared through the stadium speakers as he made his slow approach. Being a switch hitter, he was able to throw off any pitcher. Instead of batting from the left, he would bat from the right since the pitcher himself was left-handed. The blond pitcher narrowed his turquoise eyes and his lips turned downwards, making Grimmjow smirk.

_Angry much?_

Grimmjow studied the field, noting Renji on first base and Gin Ichimaru on second. They only had one out and the odds were in their favor. He could go for a base hit like Renji had, but his ego wouldn't let him settle for anything less than a home run. He rotated his shoulders and poised the bat over his left shoulder, swinging it in small circles as he waited for the pitcher to wind up. The pitcher glanced around at the bases, his eyes scanning over Renji leading away from first base and Gin perched at second. Grimmjow guessed the pitcher decided no one was going to try and steal just yet, so he turned his focus back to Grimmjow and the bat catcher behind him. The pitcher wound up and let the hard, white ball fly. It curved at the last second, making it land low and outside.

_Ball one_.

Grimmjow backed away from the plate and spit out a few shells from the ranch flavored sunflower seeds he kept in his mouth during games. The ball was thrown back to the pitcher and Grimmjow resumed his spot over the home plate, bat swaying languidly. The pitcher wound up again and this time let a fast ball streak by, but too high. So high, it almost hit Grimmjow in the arm, but he spun away from it and glared at the pitcher, checking to make sure it hadn't been done purposely.

The pitcher cursed and Grimmjow assumed it had been an honest mistake. _Most intentional hits left the pitcher with a smug expression_. Again, the ball was thrown back and Grimmjow was back at the plate. Suddenly, the pitcher threw the ball to first, cutting the air and trying to catch Renji slipping, but it didn't work. The red head lunged back to first right before the ball was caught, dirtying his pristine white uniform. Renji climbed to his feet wearing a shit-eating grin, his russet eyes gleaming under the bright lights of the stadium.

The ball was thrown to the pitcher and he wound up, cocking his left knee into his chest before letting another fastball streak straight down the center. Grimmjow grinned as his eyes followed the ball, heart dancing as he almost licked his lips at the perfect pitch.

He swung, his torso pivoting around forcefully. The bat and ball met like a head-on collision and Grimmjow took off for first base, watching the ball sailing towards the bleachers. _It was going_..._going_..._going_..._FUCK!_ It didn't quite make it over the partition, but it was enough to send Gin home and get Renji on third, while Grimmjow was left on second.

Blowing out an exasperated breath, he bent at the waist slightly and gripped his knees, cursing their luck. It was their new center fielder's first time at bat and no one was sure of what he could do. Coach Urahara and Szayel had forbade him from participating in batting practice for some strange reason and that fact dug its way underneath Grimmjow's skin, burrowing its way into his flesh. They were down by two, it was the bottom of the ninth and if they didn't get this, they would lose.

_He really hoped the higher-ups knew what the fuck they were doing_. _He refused to lose this game because of some newbie_.

The orange-haired man of his dreams – Kurosaki – stepped up to the plate, the song playing in the background making Grimmjow chuckle into his gloved hand. _Kurosaki sure was a strange one, choosing Lady Gaga's "Judas" as his theme song_. Kurosaki straddled the plate and swung lazy circles over his right shoulder with his bat as he watched the pitcher with hawk-like brown eyes. Grimmjow spit out a few shells and waited with bated breath as the pitcher wound up and let loose a rocketing fastball straight down the middle.

Kurosaki smirked a bit and gave a mighty swing.

The noise was sharp, cracking like a whip and making the ball sail through the air.

It got good air and Grimmjow streaked towards third, ready to round it and head home after Renji, when the crowd roared. Glancing over his shoulder to the outfield, he noticed the opposing team's center fielder shaking his head in disappointment. Kurosaki had accomplished what he'd set out to do.

_A perfect home run_.

Grimmjow was relieved and impressed at the same time as he loped over the home plate and the team converged onto the field, waiting for Kurosaki to make his way home as well. Grimmjow waited off to the side with the rest of the team and watched the opposing team trudge, depressed, from the field. The noise level escalated and his attention was brought back to his own team as they descended on the young, orange-haired man like a flock of vultures onto a decaying carcass.

Grimmjow studied the look on the guy's face as he accepted their gratitude, returning their eager high-fives and light pats on the ass. A sports reporter appeared out of nowhere like an apparition beside Kurosaki once the team started heading back towards the dugout. Grimmjow grinned as he caught sight of Renji secretly making a whipped cream pie behind Nnoitra's back.

"Ichigo, this is your first game as a Yankee. How does it feel to be the game winner?" a short, blonde woman asked, jade-green eyes alive with anticipation.

The woman, Menoly, was well-aware of the ongoing tradition that the Yankees had only just started at the beginning of the season. If they happened to win at the end of the game, the game winner would receive a nice, whipped cream pie in the face.

Kurosaki shrugged nonchalantly. "I guess it hasn't really registered yet," he said with a smile, rubbing the back of his neck after removing his batting helmet.

Menoly smirked and stepped to the side, the motion so small, no one would have noticed if they hadn't been looking for it, which Grimmjow was. Before Kurosaki could even blink, Renji had run up behind him and crammed the whipped cream pie in his face, the silver pie plate clattering to the ground afterward as Renji hastily retreated, shrieking with laughter.

Grimmjow smiled broadly as he watched Kurosaki stand still as a stone, probably all kinds of pissed the fuck off. Amazingly, though, Kurosaki merely wiped the cream from his face, smearing it a bit before displaying a grin worthy of the Grinch. His slanted eyes crinkled in the corners as Menoly resumed her spot beside him, holding her mic out towards him again.

"You're officially a Yankee, Ichigo. How's that feel?" she asked warmly, green eyes sparkling.

Kurosaki wiped at his face again, finally giving up as he must have realized that his efforts were in vain. "It feels good," he said, voice positively ecstatic.

Grimmjow tilted his head to the side, shocked at his new teammate's reaction, but also somewhat proud. Kurosaki had taken everything in stride, unlike Shinji, the first victim of the pieing tradition. Shinji had vowed vengeance on everyone after hitting a base hit and bringing Nnoitra home for the win, and hadn't rested until he'd done exactly that.

Kurosaki turned towards the emptying bleachers and threw his arms into the air, yelling victoriously and gaining an ear-splitting chorus of enthusiasm in return. Grimmjow shook his head at how naturally the guy had adapted to the team and its quirks, not to mention the routine of a game. _If he was honest with himself, he would have to say he was inwardly jealous of the orange-haired man_.

**XxxxxxX**

Grimmjow sat at the bar, nursing a watered down beer while he watched his fellow teammates behaving like a bunch of animals. _It was sad really_. Renji was on the verge of creating a most embarrassing spectacle of himself, standing in the middle of a wobbly, circular, wooden table, an opened bottle of beer in his right hand as he shouted over the music belting from a modern-styled jukebox that was situated in the corner of the dimly lit bar. Gin sat at the table, balancing a slice of lime on the tip of his nose as he tilted his head back, pale face slightly flushed and grin far too wide for his narrow face.

Nnoitra had some poor woman cornered on the dance floor, using his more than overwhelming height to his advantage, keeping her locked into his small circle of space. The woman, an average-height brunette with large gray eyes, wore a slightly fearful expression as she regarded Grimmjow's tall, slinky teammate.

Starrk sat perched on a high stool at the bar as well, feet resting on the lower rung of the chair and arms resting on the wooden counter, head buried into them. Grimmjow could just imagine the loud snores emanating from the lazy ass third baseman.

There was a loud whoop from the table that Renji and Gin occupied, drawing Grimmjow's attention immediately. Shinji had just joined the fray, slamming a sturdy glass of something onto the tabletop before clambering onto it.

Now, there were two idiots on top of an unacceptably unstable table.

"Tch," Grimmjow noised as he watched with dread, positive that disaster would strike soon enough.

The only sane people in the room seemed to be himself, Shuuhei, the starting pitcher and Ulquiorra, the right fielder. They were seated in a booth together, quietly chatting and sipping beers, Shuuhei grinning a mile at a time. Ulquiorra was his usual stoic self, but Shuuhei more than made up for his companion's lack of facial expressions.

And then, Grimmjow was distracted from his babysitting duties by the sight of their new teammate sauntering into the designated meeting place. The team usually took the time to unwind after a win at a small, out of the way establishment in Jersey and Kurosaki had been invited, of course. Kurosaki had changed into a pair of slim-fitting, dark-blue jeans, a white, long-sleeved tee and black and white, low-top Converse sneakers. Grimmjow sat, his eyes riveted as Kurosaki made his way to the opposite end of the bar and ordered a beer.

_A Corona with a slice of lime, to be exact_.

After the orange-haired man had his drink in hand, the bottle perspiring already, his deep nutmeg eyes roved the rowdy room. Grimmjow was stuck. His thoughts had irrevocably been drawn to his dreams of a man that looked exactly like Kurosaki and it made him shift on the bar-stool uncomfortably. Things tightened and body parts heated.

_Fuck_.

_He was too old for this shit_.

Grimmjow raised his glass and took a tentative swallow of his beer, grimacing afterward and promising himself something better when his mind had the time to actually focus. When he glanced over at Kurosaki again, his breath was suspended as he realized that Kurosaki had him in his sights and was eyeing him in a strange manner. Before Grimmjow could make sense of the younger man's expression, Kurosaki was on his way over, stepping past chairs and tables in his path.

Grimmjow swallowed nervously, loathe to admit that he was actually apprehensive of the man striding towards him with much purpose and determination. _What the hell could Kurosaki want? He would find out soon enough_. Kurosaki finally came to a stop beside him and maneuvered himself into the bar-stool to Grimmjow's left.

Eyes the color of espresso slowly met his and Grimmjow willed his heart to slow down as he forced himself to breathe normally. _Kurosaki was sexy in every sense of the word, from his looks down to the way he carried himself_; _everything was absolutely gorgeous_. Grimmjow averted his gaze for a moment, hiding the action behind the guise of checking on his other teammates, namely Renji and Shinji, who were still on the right side of lucky, standing on top of that rickety table.

The song in the jukebox switched over and Grimmjow had a sudden urge to hum and nod his head, but the way Kurosaki was staring at him made his hackles rise in an unpleasant way. "C'n I help ya?" Grimmjow asked over the sounds of an old Aerosmith song, "Rag Doll".

Kurosaki gave a cocky smirk and sipped his beer, taking his time with his reply, his eyes never leaving Grimmjow's face. _What the hell was wrong with the guy?_ "Aren't you the captain? Yer supposed to take me under yer wing, er somethin'," he finally said, a slight accent lending a strange endearment to his words.

Grimmjow snorted and turned away from the enchanting man that made hot slugs slide around in his belly. "That ain' how ya ask me for anythin'."

"Well, I wasn't really askin'."

Grimmjow whipped his head back to the orange-haired man, electric blue eyes wide with disbelief at the audacity of the new center fielder. _Was he kidding? He had to be kidding_. "Yo," Grimmjow started, ready to lay into Kurosaki, when a deafening crash made him swing his gaze towards the middle of the room.

Renji, Shinji and Gin were a tangle of limbs, overturned beer bottles and splintered table parts. Grimmjow sucked his teeth and rose from the stool just as the owner of the place, a nice-looking older man with long, flowing white hair and kind, dark eyes, floated from behind the bar. Ukitake made it to the scene of the crime a second before Grimmjow did and placed his hands on his slim hips as he glared down at the three men.

All three were wearing sheepish grins, faces pink from their alcohol consumption. Grimmjow stooped and tugged the main culprit's ear, making Renji squeeze his expressive, wine-colored eyes closed as he squealed like a stuck pig.

"Arrrgh! What the fuck, Grimm, it wasn't just me!" he yelled.

Shinji and Gin managed to scramble away before Grimmjow could get his hands on either of them, but it didn't stop him from sending them death-rays via his eyes. Ukitake shook his head exasperatedly, already resigned to his fate of being caregiver to a bunch of inebriated children. "We'll pay ya back, Ukitake," Grimmjow placated, as usual.

Ukitake sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before heading back behind the bar. "I know, Grimmjow. Just make sure these fools get home safely, OK?"

"A'course." Grimmjow was tempted to tug Renji's ear clean from the side of his head, but thought better of it and yanked the bulky man to his feet none too gently. "Get yer ass in a seat somewhere, idiot!"

Renji scuttled away, properly chastised. Grimmjow watched as the three destructive men settled themselves at a booth behind Shuuhei and Ulquiorra, who were both watching Grimmjow in amusement. Even Nnoitra had paused in his efforts to get into the brunette's pants and watched him, a devilish twinkle in his violet eye. Grimmjow rubbed a hand wearily over his face as he turned and made his way back to his seat.

He'd forgotten about his guest until he felt the unmistakable weight of a pair of eyes on him and glanced up to lock gazes with Kurosaki, who was giving him a lop-sided grin as he watched him approach. Huffing a deep breath, he slid onto his stool, already anticipating the snarky remark Kurosaki hit him with only seconds after his ass hit the seat.

"So, yer the nanny, so to speak?"

Grimmjow arched a brow, ready to chew the younger man out, but realized that in essence, it was true. He only came to the place to make sure his teammates didn't do anything stupid and to basically keep them in line. So instead of the snappy retort he'd had in mind, Grimmjow sighed and nodded. "Yep. Pitiful, ain' it?"

Kurosaki chuckled, the noise strangely nostalgic and familiar. "Yeah, it really is."

Grimmjow couldn't help but laugh along with him. _He was smart enough to know to pick and choose his battles_. Kurosaki set his beer on the counter of the bar and gave Grimmjow his full and undivided attention. "Ya know, this might sound weird, but I feel like I've met you before."

Grimmjow whipped around to face him, face slack with astonishment. He'd been thinking the same thing. _Hell, he thought it every time he looked at Kurosaki_. He wasn't sure he would have brought the matter into the open that way, though. He was still trying to make sense of the dreams that he kept having of the orange-haired center-fielder and he'd be damned if he made a fool of himself by bringing those up.

_He would ease into it, however_.

"Yeah, me too," Grimmjow agreed, face masked as he gauged Kurosaki's reaction.

Kurosaki shook his head. "Yeah, only that's impossible 'cuz I'm from Japan and lived there my whole life."

Grimmjow clenched his jaw and looked away, confused.

_He didn't know what to say to that_.

**Kind of short, but I don't wanna rush into this, therefore, I'm gonna break things down bit by bit and, in the meantime, I hope you enjoy the process! **

**Til next time!**

**Racey~**


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach...

**To my darling, dearest Farin. I love you, little sis! **

Onwards...

XOXOXO

Ichigo stared at the blue-haired first base-man before he allowed a slow grin to transform his features. The guy was interesting to say the least. His face had gotten all pink when Ichigo had mentioned the thing about feeling like he'd seen him somewhere before. Ichigo hadn't really expected an answer, so when he'd seen Grimmjow looking like he was actually thinking about a logical response, it made him laugh.

"Did you really think I wanted you to answer that?" he asked incredulously.

Grimmjow turned to face him with a skeptical look. "Didn't you?"

"Hell no. Like I said, I've lived in Japan my whole life. There's no way I would have seen you before, unless you were over there or something and I find that highly unlikely."

"Nah, I've never been to Japan. Wanna go, though. How is it?"

Ichigo shrugged. "Well, it's a different experience for me since I'm from there. Where did you wanna go?" he asked, lifting his beer to his lips.

A faint smile covered Grimmjow's face and Ichigo paused mid-lift, his heart racing. He'd seen that smile too many times in his dreams and it made places shift and grow that didn't need to be doing so.

"I don't know. It all just seems cool to me. Maybe Okinawa? Definitely Tokyo," Grimmjow said, his deep blue eyes far away.

Ichigo stared. Grimmjow was indeed a beautiful man. Didn't the guy know that? Then again, he wore his sex appeal like a run-down pair of sneakers. Like it didn't mean anything to him. Grimmjow ran a hand through his wild, bright blue hair and turned, giving Ichigo his full attention, which was like having the President come for a personal visit to your home: completely overwhelming.

"Where did you live?" Grimmjow continued.

"Uh, Karakura."

Grimmjow arched a brow and it made Ichigo chuckle. He figured the guy wouldn't have heard of his small home town, but it was worth announcing just to see that look on the man's face. "I never heard of it."

"No shit," Ichigo said.

Grimmjow smiled and shook his head. "You're a feisty little shit, aren't ya?"

That put a smile on Ichigo's face as he shrugged. "Some people might say that."

"Heh."

A comfortable silence descended between the two of them and Ichigo used the time to secretly study the first baseman. Grimmjow wore a navy-blue Henley shirt with a pair of navy-blue tear away warm-up pants. His muscular arms were bursting from the seams, stretching the short sleeves of the shirt to their limits. He smelled like fresh clothes and AXE shampoo and it made Ichigo just want to inch closer and enjoy that scent more thoroughly. But if he did that, he was sure Grimmjow would look at him like he'd lost his mind a few times.

Images of his dreams kept invading his mind at the worst times and now was certainly one of them. Ichigo closed his eyes and all he saw was bright blue hair, oceanic blue eyes and tan skin over hardened planes of muscle. He saw that same body stretched on top of him, moving fluidly, both of them panting and making other desperate sounds. Ichigo shifted in his stool, even as he sipped quietly from his bottle of beer. Grimmjow seemed more than oblivious as he sat and watched the rest of the team acting a fool. Shinji, Renji and Gin had gone back to singing and knocking back more shots, while Shuuhei and Ulquiorra sat laughing in their corner booth. Well, Shuuhei was laughing at any rate. Ulquiorra on the other hand looked like he didn't even know what a smile was.

Ichigo went back to peering at Grimmjow from the corner of his eye and was surprised to see the man grinning at nothing in particular. He wondered what the Captain was thinking. Ah well. It was nice to be able to look at him this way, up close and personal, whereas before it had always been on TV or from a distance. Then Ichigo realized what he was doing and laughed to himself, drawing said man's attention.

"What's funny?"

"Ah, nothin'."

"Yeah, right."

Ichigo grinned, secretly enjoying the sound of Grimmjow's New York accent. It was thick and deep and sexy as all hell. He laughed again, this time making the team Captain scowl at him.

"Somethin' on my face or somethin'?"

Ichigo shook his head. "Nah. Stop worryin' so much. You're gonna turn that pretty blue hair gray."

With that, he climbed from the stool he was seated in and made his way to the opposite end of the bar counter, ignoring the look of astonishment that Grimmjow was sending in his direction. That had been kind of dangerous. No matter how much he admired the Captain's good looks, he didn't think he should let the man know about it. Besides, he didn't know if the man swung that way or not.

Ichigo dumped his bottle in the large trash can and stretched his arms over his head. Today had been a good day. He'd been able to show off his skills to the rest of the team that had been regarding him as any old common rookie. He grinned, recalling the cheers and looks of astonishment after he'd hit his home run. That had been fun. Especially the pie to the face at the end of the game. Ichigo officially felt like he was part of the team now, and there was no way else to go but up. He turned back in Grimmjow's direction and froze, his arms still over his head, shirt riding up a bit. Grimmjow was watching him curiously, but that wasn't what had stilled him. No. What had made him pause was the glowing consideration in those cornflower blue eyes. Why was Grimmjow looking at him like he was a long lost lover finally found?

Ichigo shifted in place and ran a hand through his hair, hiding his sudden nervousness. His blunt nature was screaming at him to just ask the man what was going through his mind, but logic told him otherwise. Asking something like that would only set Grimmjow on edge and make him look at Ichigo like he was crazy, no doubt.

Still.

He couldn't deny that he was certainly intrigued.

XOXOXO

_The afternoon was a beautiful one. The sun rested high in the sky and not a cloud was in sight. He lay on his back in the middle of a rolling meadow, while his horse, Roman – an all black, Arabian stallion – grazed a few meters away under the only tree in sight. He turned his head and watched as Roman's tail swished back and forth contentedly. A smile lingering on his lips, he turned his face skyward once more, his thoughts slowly slipping towards the growing upheaval in the country. The emperor had raised taxes, making most laboring businesses lay off more than a quarter of its workers. The people were whispering about revolting and it made him nervous. If they did revolt, it would mean unnecessary bloodshed. Being close to the emperor as the commander of his army, he'd tried to reason with the man, but the emperor was stubborn, refusing to listen. He sighed and placed an arm over his face, blocking the glare from the sun. Such a dilemma. _

_Roman chuffed, lifting his head towards the horizon. He blinked and followed Roman's gaze, curious as to what the horse was hearing that would draw his attention so completely. What he saw was a blazing spot of orange atop a gray and white mare. He sat up slightly to get a better look, his hand visoring his eyes from the sun. The spot of orange came closer and he was able to see that it wasn't just a spot of orange after all. It was a glowing head of hair – spiky and unruly – that belonged to a young man, who looked to be no older than twenty or twenty-one. He brought the mare to a stop and slowly climbed down before leading her by the reins. The man paused when he spotted Roman, obviously having the same idea of tying his horse to the tree while he rested._

_He sat up fully and observed the younger man. He wore the clothes of a stable hand: frayed brown pants that just reached his shins and a brown vest made of matching material. His skin was tanned a light golden color and his body was strong-looking, yet slender. As he came closer, warm, laughing, brown eyes were made visible and it made his heart stutter. He'd never seen a man that enchanting before. Not even the princes of other countries could match this young man's graceful beauty. The man dropped the reins of his horse and allowed her to graze as well before he slowly ambled over. _

_He stopped directly in front of him, his face lit with a friendly smile. "Hi! You come here often?" he asked, his voice deep and husky._

_He shuddered and shook his head, unable to form words. He was absolutely spellbound. "Not very. It's my first time actually."_

"_Oh? Ah. I come here all the time with Lily."_

"_She's beautiful."_

"_Thank you. I got her as a gift for being responsible. My dad," he said with a nervous chuckle and a rub to the back of his neck. There was a brief pause where the young man plopped down beside him and made himself comfortable. "So, what brings you here? Are you from around here?"_

"_Not really."_

"_Hn. You don't really say much, do you?"_

_He chuckled and shook his head. He'd been often pegged as cold and distant for his lack of social skills, but it had always been behind his back. No one had ever had the nerve to say it to his face. "I may have heard that once or twice."_

_The young man laughed, then held a tan hand forward. "I'm Akihiko."_

_He nodded and accepted the man's strange gesture. "Takeshi."_

"_Nice to meet you, Takeshi."_

Grimmjow slowly blinked awake. He rubbed a hand over his face before easing himself into a sitting position. The morning sun was slanting through the curtains of his bedroom, announcing the time of day. He glanced at the digital clock on his night stand and yawned luxuriously before tossing away his blanket. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat there, perplexed. He always felt like that after having another one of those strange dreams. Especially now that he'd met Kurosaki, who looked exactly like the man, Akihiko. A persistent fluttering started up in his belly, making him surge from the bed in frustration. What the fuck was with those dreams anyway? It wasn't the first time he'd had a dream of Akihiko, but this one had been much more tame than the others.

Thinking of the other, not so tame dreams caused Grimmjow to run a hand through his hair as he made his way to the bathroom. Tan skin, hard flesh, and sweat filled his mind. He gritted his teeth and stood before the bathroom mirror. He didn't know what to make of the dreams and he was afraid to tell anyone about them in case it made him look like a basket case. He didn't need "delusional psycho" tacked on to the many other names the public called him. Grimmjow reached for his toothbrush and spread a generous amount of toothpaste onto the bristles. As he brushed, his mind went back to the night before, when he and the rest of the team had done their usual celebrating at Ukitake's. Kurosaki had been there. In fact, the younger, orange-haired man had started up a conversation with him. Grimmjow spit and rinsed his mouth before a slow grin turned it upwards. He liked listening to Kurosaki talk. His underlying accent was sexy as hell, not to mention his boyish good looks.

Kurosaki had surprised him with his forwardness, including the question he'd asked. How had he known that Grimmjow had been thinking the same exact thing? That Grimmjow had been experiencing a similar sense of deja vu when it came to him? It was eerie enough seeing that Kurosaki resembled the man from his dreams, but having Kurosaki ask something like that made the eerie feeling escalate.

Grimmjow wiped his mouth and turned on the shower. There had to be something else he could think about that wouldn't have his mind in such an uproar.

**XxxxxxX**

Grimmjow left the bathroom, grateful that there was no practice for the day, Coach Urahara having mercy on them since they'd won their last game. Grimmjow had plans to laze about his home: something he rarely got a chance to do these days. Of course that wasn't meant to be. He'd been drying his hair, when the sound of his phone clamoring from the nightstand interrupted the blessed silence. Sucking his teeth, he trudged over to retrieve the noisy device, cursing whoever had the nerve to call him on his day off. Unfortunately, he couldn't put a name to the caller because he didn't recognize the number.

_That's odd_, he thought.

He answered the call against his better judgment, his voice hesitant but curious. "Yeah?"

"Mornin', Captain," a familiar, cheerful voice greeted.

Grimmjow frowned, trying to place the voice, but came up with nothing. God, but it was so fucking familiar. "Who's this?"

There was an indignant huff before the voice was speaking again. "Aw, c'mon. Ya forgot what I sound like already?"

It clicked.

"Kurosaki?" he asked incredulously.

"Ah-ha! I knew ya wouldn't let me down. What're ya doin' today?"

Grimmjow couldn't close his mouth, let alone form a coherent sentence. What the hell was Kurosaki doing calling him? For that matter, how had the man gotten his number? Nothing made sense at the moment.

"H-how did you get my number?"

"Coach."

Grimmjow pursed his lips, thoughts of slowly killing Urahara running rampant in his mind. "I didn't have anything planned. Why?"

"Why dontcha show me around the city?"

"What? Why?"

Kurosaki chuckled, the noise making Grimmjow shift his weight to ease the sudden pressure behind the towel around his waist. "Easy, Captain. Ya might make me think ya don' like me."

Grimmjow snorted. Wrong. "Don't you have anyone else you can ask?"

"Yeah, but I'm askin' you."

"The hell," Grimmjow grumbled, massaging his forehead.

"C'moooon. It'll be fun. I'll letcha take me ta the Statue of Liberty an' everything."

"Why are you making this sound like a date?"

"'Cuz it is. So, look. My address is eighty-eight River Road in Teaneck. You know where that is?"

"I know where Teaneck is, but I don't get why you're giving me your address."

"Oh, I get it. I'll just come ta you, then. What's your address?"

Grimmjow contemplated that, but shook his head. There was no way he was giving Kurosaki his address, so the man could just pop up whenever he felt the need to.

"Nah, I'll just come to you," he grunted, hating the fact that he'd been pushed into an impromptu date with the team's center fielder.

"Cool! I'll see ya in an hour."

The call was ended, leaving Grimmjow staring at his phone in awe and disbelief. It wasn't going out with Kurosaki that was so daunting; it was the straightforward approach Kurosaki had adapted that left him reeling. He set his phone back on the nightstand and turned to look at his closet. What the hell was he going to wear? And what the hell did Kurosaki mean by this was a date? Grimmjow felt a chill sweep down his back as he went to stand in front of his walk-in closet. Hadn't he just been thinking about the younger man? Why did it seem like fate was forcing them together?

**XxxxxX**

Grimmjow pulled in front of a nice apartment building, his temples throbbing as he parked. What was he doing here? Not only that, but he'd had to semi-disguise himself since he and Kurosaki would be touring the city. It would be a little easier for Kurosaki to cruise the city, but Grimmjow was more well-known and more likely to be hounded by not only fans, but the press as well. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Again, what the hell was he doing here?

Movement from the corner of his eye drew his attention. He glanced over at the apartment's entrance and almost swallowed his tongue. Kurosaki jogged from the building, his face lit up and brown eyes like warm syrup. He wore a Yankee fitted turned backwards, a white tee under a navy hoodie, dark-blue jeans and white Air Forces. There was a solid gold band hanging from a thin gold chain, bouncing against his chest as he ran towards Grimmjow's truck, a cream-colored BMW X6. Kurosaki slowed at the passenger door and whistled as he gave the vehicle an appreciative once-over.

"Nice," he said, loud enough for Grimmjow to hear, even with the window rolled up.

Grimmjow unlocked the door, allowing the man entrance. The minute Kurosaki slid into the passenger seat, his scent filled the interior. Grimmjow felt like a lovesick female as he silently swooned. Kurosaki smelled like so much male. Jean Paul Gaultier, soap and his own personal musk made up the scent wafting off of the younger man. It was driving Grimmjow mad. He had to fight the urge to lean over the middle console and sniff Kurosaki's neck, it was that sinful. Swallowing thickly, he met Kurosaki's enthusiastic gaze.

"Hey, Captain!" the orange-haired man greeted cheerfully.

Grimmjow scowled. "Why the hell are you so happy this early in the day?"

Kurosaki shrugged as he snapped his seat belt into place. "What's not ta be happy about?" he asked as he sat back against the soft leather cushion. Just as he'd made himself comfortable, he sat forward and turned to Grimmjow, his face pulled into an astonished expression. "Don't tell me yer a grouch?"

Grimmjow sucked his teeth before turning away from the idiot center fielder. Kurosaki's laughter filled the SUV, but was abruptly drowned out as the radio was turned on. "Hey, Captain?"

Grimmjow fought a growl. "What?"

"Do you live in a garbage can, too?"

"Jesus Christ, Kurosaki!"

Kurosaki laughed again, his voice rich and throaty. Husky and sexy. Grimmjow cleared his throat and shifted in his seat as he pulled away from Kurosaki's residence. He had to stop thinking of the man like that, or his attraction would get the best of him. Grimmjow tugged on the dark gray skully he wore as he headed to Route 4, which would take him to the George Washington Bridge, leading into New York.

"Cap-"

"Kurosaki, stop callin' me that. S'annoying," Grimmjow interrupted.

Kurosaki didn't skip a beat. "Well, stop callin' me Kurosaki. I feel like I'm in the army," he grumbled, bottom lip poked out like a petulant child.

Pause. "Fine," Grimmjow agreed.

"So. _Grimmjow_. What's with the hat? And the shades? And the whole I Spy getup?"

"Aren't _you_ the one that called _me_ to take you into the city? What do you mean 'what's with the I Spy getup'? Do you know the kind of mob that would follow me around if I went out normally? In the home of our team at that? Are you crazy?" Grimmjow ranted disbelievingly, his gaze alternating between Kurosaki and the road.

Kurosaki chuckled. "What's wrong with that? Did it ever occur to you that your fans might appreciate that?"

Grimmjow's mouth snapped shut. Kurosaki had a point. He was sure the fans would appreciate a chance to molest him and ask for autographs, but he was a private man. He especially didn't want the press all in his business. This whole date thing smacked loudly of disaster and it made Grimmjow nervous and wary.

"I could be sleeping right now," he grumbled, turning back to the highway.

"Yeah, but then ya wouldn' have the pleasure of hangin' with me."

A clicking sound alerted Grimmjow that Kurosaki had opened the glove compartment. What the hell was the guy up to now?

"What are you doing?" he snapped.

Kurosaki glanced over at him briefly before going back to the glove compartment. "Bein' nosy. I wanna know more about ya, but I think that'll be like pullin' teeth, so I'm gonna take a shortcut."

Mouth opening and closing, all Grimmjow could do was stare out at the road. Finally, he found his voice. "You're kidding, right?"

"Why would I do that?"

"That's my stuff!"

"...That's the point, Grimmjow."

"I'm taking you home."

"Aw, come on," Kurosaki whined, snapping the glove compartment shut. "I'll be good! Look! It's closed!"

Grimmjow ground his teeth together and cursed whoever was running the show from above. Throwing Kurosaki into his life had to have been a practical joke. They drove on in relative silence, if you could call Kurosaki fiddling with the radio relative silence. He finally settled on a station that played mostly pop, Lady Gaga crooning about Judas.

"Hey, listen! It's my theme song!" Kurosaki exclaimed, bobbing his head to the demanding beat.

Grimmjow nodded absently as he concentrated on the heavy traffic. Kurosaki started singing the lyrics and Grimmjow had to admit that the guy's voice wasn't half bad. "Juu-daas, Juu-da-ah-ah!"

Grimmjow grinned as he took a peek at the younger man. Kurosaki had a lot of energy and Grimmjow found it incredibly sexy. Hell, he found a lot about the other man incredibly sexy. His voice, his smile, those damned dimples...

Kurosaki cranked the volume, filling the interior with the pounding bass of the song. He started dancing in his seat, way off beat, but Grimmjow found it endearing.

"I hope that's not how you really dance," he mumbled, not really intending for Kurosaki to hear him.

He did. "Like you can do any better."

"I do a lot better than _that_, thank you very much."

"Yeah, well, seein' is believing, buddy."

"Whatever. Anyway. Where do you wanna go first on this impromptu excursion?"

Kurosaki shifted around to face him, those maple brown eyes wide with excitement. "I wanna see Times Square!"

"Figures. You're such a tourist."

"Fuck you."

Grimmjow's bark of laughter was ferocious and abrupt. "Touchy, touchy. Hey, Kurosaki?"

"Nanda-yo?" Kurosaki growled.

Grimmjow's smile faltered at the unfamiliar phrase. "Pardon?"

"What do you want, _Captain_?"

"No, wait. What'd you just say to me? Was that Japanese?"

"I told you what I just said, and yeah. It was Japanese."

Kurosaki seemed upset.

"You know I was just fuckin' wit' you, right?" Grimmjow asked uncertainly.

Kurosaki's face sharpened with his wicked grin. "An' ya know I'm just fuckin' witchu, right?"

Grimmjow sneered as he turned back to the road. He'd been one-upped. "Whatever."

After that, Kurosaki lowered the volume on the radio and pressed his face to the glass of the window. Grimmjow frowned. What the hell was he doing _now_? Kurosaki "ooo'ed" like a kid as they crossed the bridge into New York. There were a couple of ferry boats motoring along the Hudson River, and the city skyline was as beautiful as it always was.

Kurosaki turned bright eyes in his direction, his full lips stretched into a wide grin, displaying those cavernous dimples. "That's cool!"

Grimmjow hid his amusement by nodding and turning back to the road. Kurosaki was damned cute. They left the bridge and Grimmjow wound through the streets expertly. He was already used to the insane driving of New Yorkers, but one look at Kurosaki's face revealed a large amount of trepidation. He gripped the "oh shit" handle and the middle console, eyes wide. Grimmjow chuckled and absently patted the man's large hand. Since his eyes were on the road, he didn't notice the incredulous look that Kurosaki sent him, nor the way Kurosaki seemed to calm down, wearing a secretive smirk.

They reached West 42nd Street and Grimmjow luckily found parking on a side street that didn't involve a meter payment. He shut the engine and turned to Kurosaki.

"Ready?" he asked.

Kurosaki gave an enthusiastic nod before hurriedly undoing his seat belt and hopping out of the vehicle. Grimmjow followed suit, locked up, then met Kurosaki on the sidewalk, the orange-haired man nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation. He wrung his hands together as his head swung back and forth trying to take in everything all at once. It was still fairly early, so the effect was lessened.

"It gets better at night," Grimmjow informed him. "Stay close and if you're gonna stop, let me know. I don't wanna be responsible for you getting lost. Urahara would kill me."

Kurosaki grinned and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, and the sight reminded Grimmjow so strongly of his earlier dream, all he could do was stop and stare, his mouth falling open slightly. What the hell was going on?

Shaking himself from his reverie, he turned away from Kurosaki. "You hungry?"

Kurosaki slid into view by coming to stand beside him. He looked around anxiously. "You bet. What's good around here?"

Grimmjow scoffed and gave him a scornful glare. "You say that like this is some low class district or something."

"Ah! Look!" Kurosaki suddenly shouted. His finger was pointing across the street, where the M&M's World was located. "It's candy!"

"Are you for real?"

"What?" Kurosaki asked innocently.

Grimmjow had to remember that even though Kurosaki knew English very well and seemed to fit right in in America, he was still from a different country. However, his childish enthusiasm was a bit disconcerting. He was giddy over a candy store. Granted it was the M&M's store, but still. Grimmjow sighed, resigned. He already had an idea of how this day was going to be, and to think he could have been home sleeping, or lazing about.

XOXOXO

Ichigo followed behind Grimmjow, craning his neck to look up at the tall buildings and bright lights surrounding them. Times Square was officially his favorite place to be. He'd gone into almost every store and attraction, awed and delirious with elation. Everything was so colorful and alive. It reminded him of Tokyo back home, but this place was filled with an entirely different group of people. Their language was interesting and Ichigo wasn't just referring to the English aspect. The way New Yorkers interacted with one another had his head reeling. Some were friendly, while others were downright rude. Some were snobby and high-class, while the rest were laid back and easygoing. It was all so incredible.

Grimmjow had been right when he'd told Ichigo that Times Square was much better at night. They'd been there all day, just so Ichigo could see what the man had been talking about. He was so glad he'd persuaded the grumpy Captain to stay. Speaking of Grimmjow, Ichigo had surprised himself by asking their mysterious coach for the man's number. He'd used the guise of wanting some pointers and advice, but for some reason, it'd appeared that Urahara had seen right through him. Did the blond coach know something that Ichigo didn't?

Ichigo had buried his suspicions and thanked the man for Grimmjow's number, then called the blue-haired Captain the very next morning, glad that they didn't have practice. He'd argued with himself about what he would use as an excuse to talk to the man, but in the end had decided to discard that train of logic. Being himself and using his usual direct approach seemed to be best. And wonder of wonders, it had worked like a charm. Ichigo had quickly learned that he intensely liked messing with Grimmjow. He was so fun to rile up and work over. His reactions were priceless, never mind nice to look at. No matter what face Grimmjow made, he always remained positively gorgeous. However, Ichigo had had to fight like a warrior not to laugh at the man on sight when he'd jumped into the guy's luxurious BMW SUV. Grimmjow had been dressed up in an obvious disguise: dark gray hat on his head, _attempting_ to cover those unmistakable blue locks, light-weight, black jacket, black sweats and black sneakers. Not to mention the dark pair of shades that had successfully hid his arresting blue eyes.

Ichigo had let the man have his moment, even after they'd arrived in Times Square, managing to keep his inward chuckles to a minimum. However, once night had fallen, he'd argued the man down and got him to remove that stupid hat and those ridiculous shades. A few people had recognized Ichigo, but it had gone well. He'd signed a couple of autographs and took a couple of pictures, and that had been that. Each time, Grimmjow had disappeared into the shadows until the fans had gone. Ichigo thought it was cute.

Grimmjow definitely defined the term "grouch." He had no social skills to speak of, but alone with Ichigo he did alright. On TV, the blue-haired first baseman seemed extremely charismatic and outgoing, but in reality was very private and withdrawn. Ichigo didn't know if it was result of a bad experience or what, but he was determined to get the man out of his shell. So far, he'd managed a few nicks on the ironclad surface.

Ichigo also noticed that Grimmjow would sometimes fall silent and just stare at him as if he were trying to figure out something very perplexing. It had intrigued Ichigo, but he figured he could get to the root of that at a later date. Right now, he was just concentrating on getting closer to Grimmjow. They were currently walking down the crowded street, Grimmjow a few inches taller than Ichigo. His bright blue hair captured the lights and seemed to reflect them as did his brilliant eyes. Ichigo had had to catch himself several times when he'd found himself staring longingly at his companion.

He liked spending time with Grimmjow.

Ichigo's stomach gurgled noisily and he placed a hand over it, grimacing. "Grimmjow." Grimmjow turned to him, a perfect blue brow raised in question. "I'm hungry."

Grimmjow blinked, then looked around. "There's a lot of places to go eat around here. What'd you have a taste for?"

"I don't care. I'm fuckin' starvin'."

They paused in front of the nearest restaurant, both of them looking up at the sign. Grimmjow spoke first as he turned back to Ichigo. "How 'bout barbecue?"

"Cool."

They trooped through the rotating door, Grimmjow glancing around warily once they were inside. The hostess directed them up an escalator, informing them that that was where they would be seated after a twenty minute wait time. As they rode the escalator, Ichigo looked around at the large establishment, the smell of barbecue and other tempting things teasing his nose and angering his stomach. He gripped it again and winced.

"Next time, don't wait so long to eat," Grimmjow stated matter-of-factly.

Ichigo frowned, but that was quickly erased when he spied a waiter rushing by carrying a tray of what had to be the most delicious looking drinks he'd ever seen in his life. He turned back to Grimmjow as they wade their way to the upper level's hostess. "Was that alcohol?"

"I think so."

Ichigo almost danced in place. A drink that looked that good _and_ came with alcohol? Impossible to ignore. He let Grimmjow order their table as he watched more waiters drift by carrying more tantalizing looking drinks and plates of food. By now, Ichigo was damned near writhing in place. He was hungry and eager to taste one of those drinks. Maybe that blue and white one that looked like frozen yogurt or sorbet. He'd been so preoccupied with watching his surroundings, he didn't notice at first when Grimmjow gripped his elbow and directed him out of the thick of the crowd.

In a semi-secluded corner, Grimmjow leaned against the wall, folded his arms across his chest and closed his stunning eyes. Ichigo smiled. Grimmjow was sexy as hell. Ichigo was falling into lecherous thoughts, when a shocked voice interrupted him.

"Oh. My. God. No fucking way, dude! Is that Grimmjow Jaegerjaques?"

Ichigo grinned widely at the twitch in Grimmjow's jaw. However, Grimmjow kept his eyes closed and remained still as a statue against the wall. Ichigo turned to face Grimmjow's admirers, only to be bombarded himself.

"_And_ the rookie, Kurosaki? No way! This is our lucky night, Mizuiro!"

By now, there was a small gathering of mumbling people. Some had cell phones out, while others just stood and pointed. Ichigo soaked up the attention like a sunflower, but Grimmjow growled under his breath.

"This is why I don't do this shit," he grumbled.

Ichigo punched the man's tightly bunched bicep playfully. "Ah, don't be a spoil sport. They're just fans."

Grimmjow sighed and reluctantly opened his eyes, apparently resigning himself to his fate. The main speaker gasped. He was a short, brunet fellow with wide, dark-brown eyes. Beside him was a dark-haired man wearing an embarrassed expression. The brunet stepped forward, producing a small slip of paper and pen out of nowhere.

"Mr. Jaegerjaques, Mr. Kurosaki, can I have your autographs please?" he asked eagerly.

Ichigo was more than happy to oblige, so he nodded and took the pen and paper, glancing briefly at Grimmjow from the corner of his eye. Grimmjow looked around warily, unconsciously stepping closer to Ichigo. Ichigo smiled, signed the paper, then handed it to the blue-haired Captain.

"Here ya go, Grimm," he said cheerfully.

Grimmjow gave him a scalding glare that he hid underneath a shark grin. "Thanks, Kurosaki," was what he said, but Ichigo heard it as "I'm gonna kill you later."

Ichigo just grinned some more and posed for a few pictures from other fans. The brunet squealed after Grimmjow signed the paper. He hugged the paper to his chest and his eyes promptly rolled back in his head as he fell backwards in a dead faint. Before he could hit the floor, his dark-haired friend caught him, shaking his head sadly.

"I apologize for Keigo," he said softly, before hefting the brunet's arm over his shoulders and carrying him away.

Ichigo chuckled, thoroughly enjoying himself. He turned to Grimmjow and beamed at him. "Isn't this fun?" he asked loudly.

Grimmjow's jaw twitched again, but he nodded. "Sure."

Finally, their table was called and Grimmjow gently gripped the back of Ichigo's neck and led him away. Once out of the direct line of sight of the fans, his grip tightened, making Ichigo hunch his shoulders and wince.

"Ouch," he grumbled as Grimmjow let him go.

They followed a waiter to their table and sat, Ichigo slowly perusing the small, paper menu. Dallas BBQ had good-looking food and even better looking drinks. Ichigo immediately ordered the blue and white drink he'd spied earlier. It was called a Blue Hawaii and for a few more dollars, it came with an extra shot and in a soup bowl-sized glass. Hot damn. Ichigo ordered one of the specials that came with steak, ribs, yellow rice, and shrimp, then sat back, eagerly anticipating his meal, until his gaze met Grimmjow's fiery one.

Oh, yeah.

Shit.

Grimmjow gave him a toothy smirk that would have made the devil cower. "I owe you one," he said quietly, deep voice rumbling like an earthquake.

Ichigo swallowed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck, a habit of his he'd had ever since he could remember. "I'm sorry?"

"Nah. Let's drink."

Grimmjow ordered the same thing Ichigo had, his eyes still holding a feral glint, even once the drinks arrived. Ichigo knocked back the shot first, then stuck his straw in the drink and sipped. It was thick and creamy and all-together delicious. He watched Grimmjow do the same, the man's Adam's apple bobbing temptingly. Ichigo swallowed again, this time for an entirely different reason. Grimmjow caught his gaze and smirked evilly.

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

**So sorry for the long wait! Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach...

Onwards...

XOXOXO

Grimmjow blew out an exasperated breath as he caught the orange-haired center fielder around the waist and kept his from falling. _Drunk idiot_, he inwardly fumed. He couldn't believe Kurosaki had gotten so inebriated from two of those drinks. Granted they were big and came with an extra shot of rum, but still... He glanced down at the swaying man and shook his head, brows knitted. This was just ridiculous. It was eleven o'clock at night and here he was only slightly buzzed as he led Kurosaki back to his car. The man stumbled every other step and leaned heavily against his side.

"Mmm-hmm-hmm," the center fielder hummed.

His face was flushed and those deep brown eyes were hooded and glassy. All in all, the guy was fucked up. Grimmjow wanted to laugh, but was pretty embarrassed at the spectacle Kurosaki was making of himself.

"Can you get a grip? People are staring, you know?" he grunted, annoyed.

Kurosaki swiped a large hand across his mouth and grinned. "S'cuz I'm sexy," he slurred.

"Idiot."

"Aww, come on t-taichou. Ya know it's true."

"What'd you just call me?" Grimmjow asked as he kept Kurosaki from hitting the ground...again.

"Ah? Captain! I called you Captain!"

"No, you said something with a T. Tacho or something."

"Caaaptain, baka."

"Look. Speak English to me, OK? I don't understand Japanese, and especially not drunken Japanese."

Kurosaki paused, which in turn made Grimmjow stop. Whiskey-brown eyes peered up at him before glinting. Without any warning at all, soft, moist lips were pressed to his, making his eyes widen in stunned disbelief.

"Yer so cute, Captain."

"Are you crazy?" he snapped, voice a little higher than it should be as he shoved the other man away. "We're in public! You can't do shit like that!"

Kurosaki swayed dangerously, but held himself upright by leaning on a nearby street pole. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, body slowly sliding down. Grimmjow sucked his teeth and gripped the idiot under his arms before hauling him back to his feet.

"I will never take you drinking again. This is sad," he growled. He eyed a few people staring as they walked by and shooed them away with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Never seen a drunk person before?"

The people watched with wide eyes as he dragged Kurosaki down the street. Grimmjow gritted his teeth and wished – not for the first time – that he hadn't taken the orange-haired man up on his offer to go out. This was a disaster. He would never forgive Kurosaki if they ended up in the paper or on the news as an item. It would be a media scandal of epic proportions and he enjoyed his privacy a little too much for that to happen. Shifting his arm, he tightened his hold around Kurosaki's waist and finally managed to make it to his car.

"Hey! What the fuck? Are you sleep on your feet or something? Get in the car!"

"Nnngh, I'm not sleeping," the other man muttered as he sloppily climbed into the vehicle.

Relieved that he could get the hell out of sight, Grimmjow rounded the car, hopped into the driver's seat and peeled away from the curb. Never again. He would never do this again. He'd known going out with Kurosaki had been a bad idea from the start. He burned rubber to the bridge, crossing into New Jersey once more. The radio was low, so he was able to clearly hear the center fielder snoring away. He glanced over at him and sighed. Kurosaki's mouth was wide open as he reclined against the seat and rested his head against the window. His hat had come off and fallen to the side of the seat, leaving his bright orange hair gleaming under the lights of the George Washington Bridge. Even though he was pissed with the guy, he couldn't deny how attracted he was to him. Kurosaki was sexy, drunk and all.

Grimmjow reached the other side of the bridge and headed to Kurosaki's apartment building. Once he parked in front, he glanced over at the man again and heaved a deep sigh. Now, he had to haul the man up to whatever unit he lived in. He was strong, but Kurosaki was heavy, not to mention dead weight. He leaned over and shook the man's broad shoulder. All it did was make the guy's head slide against the window. Shit. He shook him again, this time harder. Kurosaki moaned and even as it sent shocks of arousal spinning through him, Grimmjow rolled his eyes.

"I'm not carrying into your house. You can forget it. Get. Up."

The orange-haired man rolled his head in Grimmjow's direction, brown eyes blinking open, but bleary and unfocused. "What?" he mumbled, voice thick and husky.

"I said get your ass up. You're home. Let's go."

"Oh." Kurosaki peered out of the window and squinted at the building. "I don't feel so good."

Grimmjow's eyes bugged as he lurched across Kurosaki and threw the passenger door open. He shoved the man's shoulder, making him stumble from the vehicle and bend at the waist, emptying his stomach onto the pavement. The blue-haired man wrinkled his nose as he turned away from the sight of Kurosaki retching. The sounds stuck with him, though.

"I can't believe this," he moaned as he opened his door and stalked over to his teammate.

Kurosaki panted as he slowly straightened his back. "Ughh, I'll never drink rum again."

He looked so pitiful, Grimmjow almost felt bad for him. He stepped closer and awkwardly placed a hand on the man's back. "Do you feel a little better now?"

"Not really. Head's still spinnin'."

"Come on. I'll walk you up."

Kurosaki gave him a suspicious look, then threw that devious grin at him. "Are you tryna take advantage of me, Captain?"

"Look, you little asshole! By all rights, I could have left you in Times Square! Don't ma-"

"Jesus Christ, Grimmjow. I was just joking. I'll be fine on my own."

He knew he was frowning petulantly, but for some reason, he didn't care. Kurosaki seemed to bring out the worst in him.

"I don't think so. You might just fall asleep in the hall or something."

The center fielder smiled as he turned towards the building. "Fine, fine. If you insist."

Gritting his teeth and trying desperately to bury the urge to strangle the orange-haired man, he followed behind him as they made their way to the apartment entrance. Once they made it through the glass double doors and stopped in front of the elevator, Kurosaki turned on him, brown eyes pretty defiant for someone so falling-down-drunk.

"Look, you really don't need to see me to my door. I'm a big boy; I can handle getting to my house alone."

"You're also drunk," Grimmjow replied as if that answered everything.

In his opinion, it did.

"You're not gonna let this go, huh?"

"No, so ya might as well hit the button."

Kurosaki sucked his teeth, but faced the elevator again and mashed the call button with much attitude. While they waited for the machine to arrive, Grimmjow put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, mind drifting to far off territory. He had time to let his thoughts settle on the sloppy way Kurosaki had kissed him earlier...in the wide open public. His blood ran cold and sweat sprang up along his upper lip. What the hell had that even been about? He was really hoping that it had just been a drunk move on Kurosaki's behalf. As it was, he didn't take the orange-haired center fielder's antics seriously. There was no way he could. For one thing, he didn't need anything going public and for another, Kurosaki was too unpredictable. He didn't know when the guy was joking and when he wasn't.

The elevator doors opened, the soft ding bringing him out of his thoughts. They trooped inside, Kurosaki leaning against the wall and closing his eyes after pressing the button for the tenth floor. The ride up was awkwardly silent. It was clear that Kurosaki didn't want Grimmjow there, but there was no way he was trusting the man to his own devices. Leave it to that fool and the man would fall asleep in the hallway or something equally ridiculous. He wouldn't be held responsible for any consequences the orange-haired man brought onto himself.

The doors slid open again and Grimmjow nudged Kurosaki's shoulder when it appeared the man had fallen asleep against the wall. Brown eyes blinked open, lazy and a little annoyed before Kurosaki shoved himself into a standing position and left the elevator. Grimmjow followed slowly, mind whirling. He was glad it was pretty late and the area Kurosaki lived in seemed to be home to more senior citizens than anything. Otherwise, he was sure they would have been spotted by a few fans and then what? At this hour, it would immediately be assumed that they had something going on and not that a concerned captain was merely making sure his teammate made it home safely. Grimmjow shook his head and inwardly cursed Kurosaki. He would never forgive him for disrupting his Sunday.

They finally made it to the end of the hall, where Kurosaki reached into his pocket and retrieved a key ring, fumbling with it before fitting one of the keys into the lock. It gave and the door swung open. Kurosaki glanced over his shoulder once he crossed the threshold.

"You comin' in?" he asked quietly.

Should he? Grimmjow mentally rubbed his chin. He did want to make sure Kurosaki made it to his bed without incident, but he didn't want to make it seem like he was advancing on the guy.

A resigned sigh sounded before Kurosaki was speaking again. "Look, if you're comin' in, then come on. If not, lock the door when you leave. I gotta crash."

His voice was weary and his movements sluggish as he dragged himself into his apartment. Grimmjow watched him go, still debating with himself. Then he cursed his indecision and stepped into the center fielder's living space. The room was still dark since Kurosaki hadn't bothered to flip on any lights, but the light spilling into the sitting room through the floor to ceiling windows made it possible to see where the drunk orange-haired man had gone. There was a long hall that led to two doors, one open and one shut and Grimmjow was guessing Kurosaki was in the room with with the open door.

After taking a quick look around, he went to make sure Kurosaki hadn't passed out on the floor of his bedroom, although, in all truthfulness, it was his right to do so. Grimmjow passed through the spacious sitting room, impressed with its tidy state before traveling the hall and pausing in front of the cracked door. He took a deep breath, then clenched and released his hands. What was he so nervous about? It was just Kurosaki. That thought in mind, he pushed the door open a little more and peered inside. The bedroom also had floor to ceiling windows, allowing light into the space, but Grimmjow was too busy staring at Kurosaki's bed to care about that.

The orange-haired man lay on his stomach, clad only in a pair of black boxer briefs. His back was strong-looking and well-defined and the way he was positioned with his head turned to the side, muscular arms pillowing it and equally muscular legs spread, one bent towards his stomach made Grimmjow's mouth absolutely water. The urge to strip and climb in next to the man was crippling and kept him rooted in place for more than a few minutes, helplessly staring at his teammate's beauty. There was no other word to describe it. Kurosaki was positively gorgeous. His obnoxiously bright orange hair seemed to suit his tanned skin and his body was purely man. He was a complete turn-on.

When Grimmjow found himself taking a step into the man's bedroom, his jaw tensed. What was he doing? He'd seen with his own eyes that Kurosaki had indeed made it safely to his bed; his job was over. He could leave with a clear conscience. So...why was he moving into the guy's bedroom while he slept?

_Fuck, I'm being a creep_, he thought.

When that crossed his mind, he abruptly stopped and whirled on his heel. He wouldn't let Kurosaki's sex appeal overwhelm him. He wouldn't be drawn in over his head, caught by the orange-haired man's sexual riptide. He stalked from the room and made tracks to the front door, where he twisted the lock and let the metal fall into place. As he hurried to the elevator, heart racing and hands shaking, he had time to dwell on the sight that was now forever burned into his mind's eye.

Damn.

**XxxxxxX**

_The sun hovered slightly above the horizon. He was late. He glanced around the field, pausing to take in the tree where Roman grazed, tail swishing with content before he looked to the distance once more. The man had promised to meet him at this location at this time, but he was nowhere to be found. Growing agitated, he lowered himself to the ground and toyed with a few strands of grass. He didn't know what had come over him and made him begin meeting regularly with the orange-haired man, but the man was intriguing. His bright smiles and warm nature drew him in like a bear to honey. _

_He'd never met someone quite like Akihiko._

_Whenever they met, Akihiko talked nonstop about his life on his father's farm and how the older man cared for the villagers when they fell ill. How his mother was such a great cook. How he wanted to be a man of travel, traversing the world and making astounding discoveries. He didn't mind that Akihiko did most of the talking during their meetings. In fact, he preferred it. He liked listening to the man's deep voice and the excitement ringing through it. He liked soaking up his energy and staring at his radiance. He liked him, period. When the time would come for them to depart from one another, he hated to do so. All he had to look forward to was an emperor that didn't listen and a group of restless men hungry for blood. Sighing, he ripped up a few blades of grass and watched as he let them flutter back to the ground._

_Suddenly, a pair of rough hands covered his eyes and a deep voice demanded, "Guess who!"_

_Chuckling, he reached up and toyed with his chin. "Hmm. I wonder."_

"_Uh-huuh," the voice encouraged._

"_Could it be the sun god?"_

_Hearty laughter greeted him as the hands left his face. He turned in time to see Akihiko lower himself next to him with an enormous smile. _

"_I'm not a sun god," he chuckled._

"_Your hair suggests otherwise."_

"_Then I take it you're the sky god since your hair is so undoubtedly blue," he fired back._

_He snorted and shook his head. It was an ongoing battle they raged whenever they greeted one another. He stared off into the distance, prepared to listen to another one of the orange-haired man's tales, but was surprised when he was met with a long stretch of silence. He glanced over at Akihiko, wondering about the cause for the change in behavior, when he was hit with the full force of the man's deep brown gaze._

_Startled, he asked, "What's wrong?"_

_Akihiko briefly averted his eyes before refocusing them on him. "Takeshi, I always do the talking. Why won't you tell me about yourself? You know everything there is to know about me, but I know nothing about you, aside from your name. Why?"_

_He'd been afraid of this. Since Akihiko was a villager, he hadn't wanted to tell him about his position as commander of the emperor's army. Especially not with a revolt on the horizon. He lowered his own eyes and bit his bottom lip. What should he do? When he lay his eyes on Akihiko once more, his resolve crumbled like decaying stone. There was no way he could turn away from those beseeching brown eyes._

_Slowly, he started speaking. "I work in the palace. I don't have much freedom, but the time I do manage to steal, I spend with you. There isn't much to know about me, Akihiko, which is why I allow you to do all of the talking. I have no interesting tales, no exciting adventures. I have no friends and the family I did have is dead." He paused to take a breath before continuing. "I enjoy listening to you speak, but if this displeases you, then-"_

"_I'm sorry," Akihiko interrupted, eyes wide. "I...I didn't know. I just...I wanted to know more about you, that's all. I didn't mean to make you bring up bad-"_

"_I'm fine. My time with you makes up for the time that I spend in the palace."_

_Akihiko glanced away, cheeks turning pink. "That's rather romantic, don't you think?"_

"_Is it? I'm only speaking the truth."_

"_S-so, that's why you talk so properly? And why you dress so...formally," he said, indicating the white kendo top and black hakama pants._

"_Yes."_

"_I see."_

_The following silence was taut with unasked questions. He could feel it on Akihiko's part. The orange-haired man shifted and fidgeted endearingly. _

"_You may ask me what you like, Akihiko," he finally said, amused as he peered at the man from the corner of his eye._

_With a hefty, relieved sigh, Akihiko turned to him. "How old are you? How long have you worked in the palace? And why don't you like to talk?"_

_He chuckled at the sudden onslaught of inquiries before sobering and turning to face the other man as well. He looked into Akihiko's eyes and marveled at their depths. He was indeed a beautiful man. _

"_I'm twenty-three. I've been in the palace for ten years and...I don't dislike talking. I rarely have much to say, so I don't."_

"_But you've got such a nice voice – I mean...um..." Akihiko's cheeks reddened as he glanced away and frowned at his feet. _

"_Thank you. As do you."_

"_How can you say things like that so...easily?" Akihiko mumbled without looking up._

"_Things like what? I say what I think. Is that wrong?" he asked, a small frown forming at his brows._

"_Not really. It's just...sometimes I don't know if you say them because you really like me, or if it's only something on your mind."_

_His frown deepened. "But I do like you. I thought that was clear by now."_

_He was getting confused. He didn't understand what Akihiko was going on about, but the sad expression on the man's face made his stomach hurt. _

"_I know you like me, but..." Akihiko's voice trailed off as his expression grew a little more depressed. _

"_Please tell me," he nearly begged. He couldn't stand to see Akihiko look that way. "I won't understand unless you do."_

_Those warm brown eyes turned on him and seemed to study him before Akihiko climbed to his knees and came closer. His breath hitched as the orange-haired man framed his face with strong hands and leaned in, placing a barely there kiss to his lips. Stunned, all he could do was stare._

"_I like you, Takeshi. A lot. I've liked you since I first saw you sitting in this field. I like your eyes that seem to light up when you see me. They're so incredibly blue, I feel like I'm drowning whenever I look into them. I like your voice. Even though you talk like an old man, it's deep and rough, but also...something else. Gentle, I guess. I like how you smile at me and watch me when you think I'm not looking. I like you."_

_Akihiko went quiet as he searched his eyes for a sign of life. Maybe he was waiting for a response. Feeling like an oppressive weight had been lifted from his shoulders, he wrapped his arms around Akihiko's waist and pulled the man to him. _

"_I see," he murmured before capturing the man's lips with his own, this time adding more pressure to the kiss._

_One of his hands traveled up the orange-haired man's side, over his shoulder and into his short, spiky hair. Akihiko opened his mouth and traced his bottom lip with a warm, wet tongue before gently probing at the seam of his lips, silently requesting entrance. He gladly obliged, opening his own mouth and allowing their tongues to touch. It was tentative at first, almost shy on his part. Then, he grew bolder as heat swept his loins and Akihiko edged even closer, pressing his firm chest to his, strong arms going around his neck. As their tongues twined and became more and more aggressive, he found himself groaning, heart racing and skin on fire. He was dizzy, the kiss heady and more potent than the finest sake. _

_And then, Akihiko's hand slid from around his neck and traveled down across his chest, over his abdomen, and lower still past the top of his hakama pants to his straining groin. He grunted as the younger man palmed and massaged him through the thick material. He pulled out of the kiss and watched avidly as Akihiko fumbled with the ties to his top. It took the man a moment of wrestling with it before it fell open and revealed his torso._

"_W-wow," was all the orange-haired man said before his fingers coasted over the ridges of his abdomen._

_Heat erupted everywhere. Akihiko touched him so carefully and with a distinct sense of awe. It was flattering and humbling all at once. He didn't deserve the attention of such a beautiful creature. Akihiko's hands soon went to the ties of his hakama pants, but those were more easily undone than the ones to his top. With a quick and uncertain glance, Akihiko tugged at them as if silently asking for permission to do so. He nodded at the younger man and lifted his hips, freeing himself from the pants. He kicked them away and waited as Akihiko stared at him, brown eyes wide and appreciative._

"_You're perfect everywhere," he breathed._

_He frowned, disagreeing with that statement, but still reaching out for the other man. He divested Akihiko of his vest and moved on to the knee-length pants he wore. They were both breathing quickly, anxious for what would come next. The orange-haired man helped him get rid of the pants before he turned back to him and nervously slid into his lap. When they rubbed against each other, they both moaned and sought each other's lips. The kiss grew to a fever-pitch and Akihiko began rotating his hips, causing much more friction between them. It was almost too much. His arms came up and locked around the smaller man's waist at the same time as Akihiko's arms went around his neck and tightened. They pulled out of the kiss, breathing harsh and nearly frantic as they acquired a rhythm. By now, he was constantly moaning, sweat forming along his hairline and lower abdomen. _

"_A-Akihiko," he moaned breathlessly. _

"_Takeshi...I'm...haa..."_

_Everything was in an uproar. His skin seemed to crawl right from his flesh as his hands tightened around the smaller man. Kami, he could barely breathe and his heart was close to failure, but he refused to let up. The sensation was too intense. He kissed Akihiko's neck, chest, shoulder – anything his lips could reach at the moment. He was so close to erupting like a volcano. And then Akihiko threw his head back and gave a deep, guttural moan. Wet heat splattered his abdomen and made his thighs tremble as he too gave in to release. _

_Panting, they held each other close, until he grew too weak to remain upright. He lowered himself to the ground, pulling Akihiko down with him, where the orange-haired man lay on top of him, head resting in the crook of his neck. For a while, all they did was catch their breath and let their hands travel over the closest expanse of skin they could reach. For him it was Akihiko's back and shoulders, but for the younger man it was his chest and side. A little more time slipped by before Akihiko raised his head, brown eyes hooded and lazy. He gave him a small smile right before he captured his lips in another kiss, this one slower._

Grimmjow jerked in bed and opened his eyes. When he sat up, he grimaced at the dark spot in front of his boxer briefs. Not again. This hadn't been the first time he'd dreamed of the orange-haired Akihiko, nor had it been the first time the dream's contents contained highly explicit sexual scenes. He didn't understand it. None of it. He didn't get why Akihiko looked the spitting image of Kurosaki. Even their voices were the same. It was disturbing. It would make more sense if he'd only started having the dreams _after_ he'd met Kurosaki, but that wasn't the case. The dreams had been occurring for quite some time, way before he'd been introduced to the orange-haired center fielder.

He climbed from bed and trudged to the bathroom to clean up and throw his soiled underwear in the hamper. Another victim of a wet dream.

He was too grown for this shit.

**Next time...**


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach...

Onwards...

XOXOXO

Ichigo cursed the asshole who created liquor. He was seated on a bench behind the batting cage, elbows on his knees and face buried in his palms. Each crack of a bat meeting a hard baseball made him wince and wish he was dead, buried and forgotten. It was agonizing, but it wasn't like he could _miss_ practice. At the time, drinking had sounded like such a wonderful idea. Now, as he sat in his team's stadium, head feeling like it was splitting apart and stomach doing slow somersaults, he definitely thought otherwise. If someone asked him to trade his left nut for a chance to go home and nurse his massive hangover, he'd seriously consider it.

"Hey, Kurosaki!"

Ichigo shuddered and certainly not the good way. The call of his name had seemed like a deafening shout, a sharp stab shooting through his vulnerable brain. He grimaced and grunted. He wanted to move his hands away from his face, but the sun was being as obnoxious as ever, never mind the fact the weather wasn't that bad. However, the sun's rays were like bullets aimed directly at his head.

A hand on his shoulder made Ichigo turn his head slightly to the left and crack open his left eye. He was greeted with the sight of his widely grinning, entirely too cheerful teammate, the red-haired back catcher, Renji Abarai. Ichigo groaned and covered his face up again. He wasn't in the mood to deal with so much happiness while he was feeling so miserable.

"Dude, ya look like shit!" Renji exclaimed.

_Good eye, buddy. Didja come up with that all on your own?_

Ichigo just grunted again, this time hoping it would make the idiot _go away_. No such luck. Of course not.

"It's yer turn in the cage. Urahara's crackin' the whip since we got a game day after tomorrow."

There was no...possible...way. Ichigo peered from behind the cover of his hands again, eyes narrowed and projecting grisly death.

Renji held up his hands at Ichigo's expression, russet eyes glowing with amusement. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger."

With that, the red head ambled away towards the dugout, a huge pink bubble growing from his mouth. Ichigo growled under his breath when the sun became too much for him. He hid his face one more time, hoping the rest of the team would get a clue. Urahara was going to kill him for not participating, but hell, the blond knew how good Ichigo was. Not to say Ichigo didn't need to practice, but if he missed _one_, it wouldn't kill his performance during the upcoming game.

He was just getting comfortable in his spot when he felt eyes all over him. With a frown, he lifted his head and searched for the source. Someone had to be staring pretty intently for Ichigo to pick up on it.

Didn't take long to find the culprit.

The blue-haired team captain was striding towards him, blue eyes annoyed and brows creased into a deep frown. What the hell had Grimmjow in such a snit? Whatever it was, it made the man seem like a god of death. A sexy one, at that. Ichigo scowled and shifted in place, body getting more and more antsy the closer the captain came. Grimmjow had on a dark-blue tee with the team logo over the left breast and a pair of dark-blue warmup pants. He had a hard batting helmet in one hand, a wicked-looking black bat in the other. When he pulled to a stop right in front of Ichigo, Ichigo almost swooned. That was the first thing he'd smelled all day that he could actually tolerate, simply because it didn't overwhelm his senses.

"Ya gonna work or sleep all day?" Grimmjow growled.

Ichigo couldn't help himself. He grinned. His taichou was too fucking hot for his own good. "That depends," he started. "Does the sleepin' part involve you?"

Grimmjow's frown faltered and slipped into something resembling astonishment. It was cute. The captain didn't realize how utterly endearing he could be when he was annoyed or in this case, shocked. Grimmjow's mouth opened and closed a couple of times before the frown was back in full force and the man's grip on the bat was becoming dangerous. Blue eyes narrowed to frosty slits as Grimmjow took a step into Ichigo's personal space.

"If you can joke around, you can get yer ass in that cage and swing this bat around."

Ichigo had to admit, with Grimmjow standing over him, smelling like Heaven on Earth and radiating agitation like microwaves, the man was intimidating as hell. Not to mention the deep voice Grimmjow used when he was trying to keep Ichigo in line. Although, the downside for Grimmjow was when he got like that, all it did was turn Ichigo on more.

"I'd rather do somethin' else, though," Ichigo said with a teasing grin. He still had a headache that could rule the world with the pain it wielded, but messing with his sexy captain had taken the stage, pushing everything else aside. "So, whattaya say, Captain?"

Ichigo climbed to his feet just as Grimmjow dropped the batting helmet he carried. The next instant saw the blue-haired man grabbing Ichigo's left upper arm and dragging him into the miniscule space between their bodies. It was there that Ichigo became more than aware of the height difference. He craned his neck and stared, eyes wide. Blue eyes glittered with anger as Grimmjow glared down at him, teeth bared threateningly.

"Stop buggin' me, Kurosaki. I'd hate ta kick yer ass before a game."

Ichigo snorted and yanked his arm out of his captain's grasp. "You can _try_, Taichou."

"Mah, mah. This ain't how teammate's 'er s'posed ta act towards each other," a light tenor interrupted the charged atmosphere between the two cranky men.

Ichigo rolled his eyes and immediately regretted it afterward. Just because he was ignoring his headache didn't mean it wasn't still there. Pain lanced from the back of his eyes deep into his brain before detouring to spear through his temples. _Bad idea_, his mind scolded. Ichigo massaged his aching temples and squeezed his eyes shut, praying the sharp agony would just disappear. But he knew that was asking for a miracle at this point.

"Ichigo, you don' look too good," another voice chimed in.

What was this? Survey the new guy day?

Ichigo recognized the voice and felt bad about ignoring it. Shinji Hirako, the left fielder had always been a nice guy, but Ichigo felt like gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe at the moment. Not really in the mood for chatting now that his headache had come back with a vengeance.

"He's got a hangover," Grimmjow drawled.

Ichigo didn't even have to open his eyes to see the smug expression all over the man's face. It was all in his deep, gravelly voice. Still, Ichigo pried his eyelids apart and turned an evil glare in the blue-haired man's direction. Grimmjow just gave a lopsided smirk and propped one hand on his hip.

"Guess that'll teach ya ta get drunk on a practice night."

Ichigo growled and opened his mouth to fire back something really rude and nasty, but Shinji's curious voice piped up first.

"How ya know that, Captain?"

Grimmjow shrugged and turned his head away, averting his gaze, but Ichigo's face lit up when he caught the pink running across the bridge of the other man's nose.

_Ohhhh?_

Grimmjow mumbled some nonsense, but this time Gin stepped in, voice ringing with amusement. "Couldn' really hear that, Cap'n."

This time, Grimmjow had skulls and crossbones in his eyes as he glared at Gin. But – Ichigo noted with a little pride – the man didn't back down from the obvious challenge.

"I _said_ 'cuz he went drinkin' wit' me."

Shinji again. "Wha'?! Now that ain't right! Ya never took us drinkin' before!" he cried in dismay.

"Of course not," Grimmjow casually stated. "Look how you idiots act when you're drunk. I wasn't in the mood to pay for your damages."

Ichigo chuckled at the chastised expressions both Gin and Shinji wore. Even he knew Grimmjow was right about the two's behavior. Add Renji to the mix and it was absolute mayhem. Ichigo shook his head and gingerly made his way to the batting cage. He really had no idea how he was supposed to put forth any sort of effort with his head pounding like the inside of a club, but he didn't feel like hearing Grimmjow's mouth about it. Urahara's, either. And with the way the blond coach was staring at him from the dugout, it was clear Ichigo would get chewed out if he didn't do _something_. He glanced at the far side of the field where Szayel was running tee drills with Starrk and Nnoitra, then sighed wistfully. He'd rather be there than here in the batting cage, practicing live pitching drills with the starting pitcher, Shuuhei Hisagi. The dark-haired man was pretty handsome, but it was more than clear that he had a thing for the Yankees' right fielder, Ulquiorra Schiffer. Schiff was a quiet guy with equally dark hair, but had huge green eyes that reminded Ichigo of shamrocks. He had a dry sense of humor and zero tolerance for foolishness – which meant, Renji, Shinji and Gin together got on his nerves. Shuuhei normally distracted the right fielder, but sometimes it was just unavoidable.

Shuuhei stood atop the pitcher's mound, a small smirk running across his face. "Kurosaki, you look terrible!"

Ichigo rolled his eyes, trying his hardest to avoid the glaring sun. "Just throw the fuckin' ball, Hisagi!"

Shuuhei's smirk turned into a teasing grin as he propped a hand on his right hip and tossed a baseball up and down with the other. The look in his steel gray eyes told Ichigo everything he needed to know about the next few minutes of his life. It was nothing good, either.

"Ya know? I really don't think you're striking the proper tone there, Orange Peel!"

"Bahahaha! Orange Peel! Das a good one, Shuu!" Gin cackled from the other side of the batting cage.

Ichigo started to snarl and growl, but chuckled instead. He'd been called everything under the sun, from pumpkin head to safety cone. Orange peel was one he'd never heard, though, surprisingly enough.

"OK, Hisagi. Ya got me. C'n ya throw the ball now, so I c'n sit my hungover ass down?" he shouted with a sarcastic grin.

"For a new guy, you sure are pushy!" Shuuhei continued, but fell into position for the pitch, left knee hiking up towards his chest.

Ichigo grabbed one of the bats leaning against the chain-link fence of the cage, then spread his legs and hovered over the home plate. He focused on the dark-haired man's hands, eyes glued to the white ball rotating between tanned fingers. Ichigo blinked away a sudden twinge of pain behind his eyes just as Shuuhei's arm swung and the ball streaked forward.

He missed by a mile.

Not only that, but it felt like someone was stomping repeatedly on his head by the way his temples throbbed and pounded. A rumbling chortle from behind made him grimace. Too proud to grab his head and will away the pain, Ichigo steadied himself and lifted the bat again, once more crowding the plate. He wanted to kill his captain for being so cruel and laughing at his agony, but Ichigo supposed he deserved it in a way. He'd agitated the hell out of Grimmjow last night. Guess this was the blue-haired man's revenge.

Shuuhei wound up again and wasted no time sending the ball on a high-speed, one-way trip towards Ichigo and the plate. This time, Ichigo was ready for it. He rotated the tip of the bat in a slow, counter-clockwise circle as brown eyes followed the ball. He swung. The bat and ball met with a deafening crack, and the baseball went soaring. It was beautiful. The red and white orb sliced the air in a lovely arc across the field as the players surrounding the batting cage looked on. Relieved, Ichigo tossed the bat and left the cage, ignoring the hell out of Shuuhei calling him back and telling him that he wasn't done yet. Ichigo also let Grimmjow's death glare roll right off him as he made his way back to the bench he'd claimed earlier.

"Urahara's gonna bench you in the next game, Kurosaki. Ya keep that up and see if it doesn't happen."

He could ignore the looks, but he couldn't ignore the arousing, deep voice. Ichigo gave his captain the attention the man was searching for and stared at him with a blank face. He didn't know what to say. He was hungover (he'd never get drunk on a practice night again), and he was tired as all hell. He just wanted to fall into his bed and never resurface. But apparently, that was too much to ask.

As Ichigo stared at Grimmjow, everything the man said turned into Charlie Brown's teacher's lingo. Instead, the center-fielder focused on the moving full lips, the straight nose, the square and angular jaw, the endless, ocean-blue eyes...

"Kurosaki!"

Ichigo jumped and scowled at Grimmjow like the man had just called him a dickless bastard. "What?" he barked in return.

"Don' 'what' me! Ya weren't listenin' to a word I was sayin', were you?"

Nope. Not one, tiny little bit.

"Yeah. Ya said somethin' 'bout me bein' lazy and hungover, or somethin' like that. Am I right, Taichou?" Ichigo offered, attempt half-hearted at best.

Grimmjow rolled his brilliant, blue eyes and frowned. "What's that ya keep callin' me?"

"Eh?"

"Kurosaki!"

Ichigo chuckled and held up both hands in surrender. "OK, OK. It means 'captain' in Japanese. Nothin' bad, I promise."

The other man just studied him, quiet and serious. Then, he shrugged and rubbed the tip of his nose. There was a strange light in those royal-blue irises. "Ya need a ride home after practice? I noticed ya take the subway and the bus."

"Awww, Taichou," Ichigo drawled and climbed to his feet, tired of looking up at Grimmjow. "You gettin' sweet on me?"

The light disappeared, the eyes going cold and angry. "Look, Kurosaki-"

"Lighten _up_, Grimmjow," Ichigo interrupted with a small smile. "Learn how ta take a joke, why don't you."

Ichigo expected a heated response, but what he got was a cautious nod. Grimmjow's way of calling a truce? Whatever it was, Ichigo liked it.

A shrill trill of a whistle cut into their quiet time, and Ichigo's head swiveled around to find the offending source. Urahara strolled towards the batting cage, one hand in the pocket of his dark-blue, windbreaker pants, the other still wrapped around his whistle. Once the blond coach reached the cage and the rest of the team had gathered around him, he lowered the whistle and stuffed his free hand into a pocket as well. Dark gray eyes roamed the field, landing on each player, and Ichigo felt like those same eyes lingered on him longer than the others.

"You know what this next game means. If you lose, you don't make the playoffs. I'll ignore this lousy excuse for a practice if you bring me a win day after tomorrow," Urahara stated, all peaceful intimidation.

Ichigo fought the urge to blush, mortified. He knew Urahara was referring mostly to him, so he promised himself he would get his act together and bring home that win Urahara had just mentioned. With that, the blond ambled away, Szayel in his footsteps, gesturing with much animation.

_Shit, I still feel guilty_.

Ichigo trudged away from the cage and headed towards the dugout and the exit, Grimmjow's offer of a ride home forgotten. He made it to the locker room and stared at his duffel bag. He hadn't even exerted enough energy to require a shower.

Not even a minute later, loud voices filled the room, spurring him into motion. He nabbed his bag, slung the strap over his shoulder and turned to leave. A large hand on his arm made him pause his rapid getaway, however. He glanced over his shoulder, not surprised to see his captain watching him with what _could've_ been concern, had it not been coming from the blue-haired man to begin with.

"Ya don't want that ride?" Grimmjow asked.

Ichigo's mind flew into the gutter, so he turned away to hide a smirk. A ride would be nice, though. He wouldn't have to worry about the bus and the stinking subway for a change. He nodded, still facing away from Grimmjow.

"Yeah, I do. I'll wait in the parking lot for you," Ichigo said, words running together as he beat a hasty retreat.

He had to get from under the scrutiny of those ridiculously blue eyes. Every time he looked at the man now, his thoughts were of the lecherous variety. At first, it had been a game. A fun _something_ to tease his captain with. Now... Ichigo ran a hand through his unruly hair as he left the stadium and headed across the street for the huge parking lot. Now, the game had turned into a reality. There was no denying Grimmjow's attractiveness, but on top of that, Ichigo still had those strange dreams to worry about. The blue-haired and blue-eyed Takeshi, who looked the spitting image of Ichigo's captain, Grimmjow Jaegerjaques. The voice was the same – albeit a lot more old-fashioned and formal – the mannerisms were the same, and even the personalities were mirrored. It was freaky at best.

Ichigo slouched over to Grimmjow's SUV and leaned against it, eyes sliding shut against the sun. His headache had reduced to a mild roar, leaving him a small amount of brain cells to think with. Just why was he having dreams about Grimmjow? And why had they started before he'd even seen the man on TV? It was so confusing. So _frustrating_. He massaged his temples and bared his teeth. He didn't understand what was going on at all. The weird dreams ranged from hot, passionate and sexy, to blissful and...heartbreaking. Ichigo recalled the dream where Takeshi had died in his arms, professing his love and telling Ichigo they would be together again. No. _Akihiko_.

"What the fuck?" Ichigo grumbled under his breath.

"I didn't take _that_ long," Grimmjow's drawled, amused.

Ichigo's eyes shot open and landed on the blue-haired man sauntering over to the driver's door. The locks snicked open and Grimmjow slid inside the vehicle, graceful for a man so tall and muscular. Ichigo opened the back passenger door, tossed his duffel bag onto the seat, then shut the door and climbed into the front seat. He snapped his seat belt in place, and with a long, satisfied sigh, he leaned his head against the window. The interior of the SUV was filled with Grimmjow's musky and alluring scent. It tickled and teased Ichigo's senses, caused gooey heat to run lazy fingers across his groin. He inhaled deeply, trying to be as discreet as possible about it.

_Damn, the man smells so fucking good._

The SUV started up and rolled out of the lot, the music on the radio at a low, humming pitch. That wouldn't do. Ichigo wanted to hear it at least. As he leaned toward the dials, he peered at Grimmjow from the corner of his eye. If he hadn't forced himself to push through it, Ichigo would have been paralyzed with shock. Grimmjow alternated his gaze between the road and Ichigo, blue eyes curious and analyzing. Not the annoyed or exasperated Ichigo had become accustomed to.

He toyed with the radio controls a bit before settling on a station playing Owl City's "Fireflies." He loved that song. Ichigo raised the volume and went back to reclining against the window, humming along to the lyrics. He did everything he could think of to avoid the inevitable confrontation.

Didn't work.

"What'd I do now?" he snapped, finally meeting the inquisitive blue gaze.

Grimmjow frowned, obvious confusion racing across his features. "The fuck you talkin' about?"

"You keep lookin' at me like I did somethin'."

"I didn't say that, did I?"

Ichigo shrugged. "No, but I'm always irritating you for some reason. I know it's comin'."

Grimmjow turned back to the road, eyebrows still furrowed. "I was thinkin' 'bout somethin'."

"Somethin' like what? All the ways ya wanna kill me?"

"Shut up, Kurosaki."

Ichigo chuckled and closed his eyes again. Outwardly, he was the picture of calm, cool and collected; inwardly was another story altogether. What the hell could've been on Grimmjow's mind to have him looking at Ichigo like that? The man was behaving so strangely. Last night, he'd been ready to hang Ichigo by his toenails in the middle of Times Square. Today, he was almost civil. Ichigo shot the captain a brief cursory glance as he thought how creepy Grimmjow being nice to him felt.

Before he knew it, they were pulling in front of his apartment building. He observed the serene-looking structure, a sudden thought entering his still aching head.

"Why don't you come up for a while?" Ichigo asked before he lost the courage bolstering him.

Grimmjow's eyes went round as he stared at Ichigo like Ichigo had just started speaking gibberish. "What?" Instead of repeating himself, Ichigo gave the blue-haired man a long, pointed glare. "I mean... What are you up to?" Grimmjow ended with a narrow-eyed look.

"Bahahaha! Just dinner, Taichou. I ain't gonna kill you or nothin'," Ichigo laughed, fighting the nervousness hiding right beneath his composed facade.

"Dinner?" Grimmjow parroted, hands gripping the steering wheel and turning his knuckles white.

"Dinner. Thought maybe I'd make ya a meal in return for the ride an' gettin' me home all safe last night."

Ichigo watched his captain loosen the iron grip he had on the steering wheel, only to drum his fingers along the black leather. It was entertaining as hell.

"Just dinner?" Grimmjow blurted, blue eyes wide and endearing.

Where was the predator? Where was the snarky attitude? The biting comments and furious scowl?

"Jus' dinner," Ichigo said.

Grimmjow took a deep breath and nodded. "Alright. I can do that."

"Good boy."

"Fuck you!"

"Jus' jokin'!. Since you're stayin', you c'n pull into the parking lot around back. Take my space," Ichigo instructed, pointing his finger at the windshield in the direction of the building's parking lot entrance.

Grimmjow did as told and turned off the SUV's engine after pulling into the designated space. Once Ichigo grabbed his bag, they made tracks to his apartment. He fumbled around in his pockets for his keys the entire trip, certain he'd stuck them there before practice. Then he facepalmed, drawing an amused eyebrow arch from the blue-haired man beside him. Damn, if he hadn't moved them to his duffel bag.

They entered his place, Ichigo pulling apart the vertical blinds hiding the floor to ceiling windows before moving into his bedroom.

"Be right back," he called over his shoulder.

He went to his walk-in closet and changed into a pair of black basketball shorts and a white, v-neck tee. He felt better now. More comfortable. He was tossing the practice clothes he'd stripped out of into the hamper in the corner of the closet, when a sudden wave of dizziness made him stumble into a shelf of sneakers. He braced his hand against the wood to steady himself, vision blurry. What the fuck was going on? Heat swept his body from head to toe right before everything went black.

_He lay on the ground, head pillowed against a strong, muscular arm and eyes directed at the handsome face hovering above his. He used a free hand to reach up and stroke a smooth, pale cheek as he smiled. The blue-haired man above him smiled back, deep blue eyes bright with affection._

"_You took longer than usual to get here today, Takeshi," he said._

_Takeshi's smile faltered for the briefest of seconds before it widened. "There was something that needed my attention before I could make it here, Akihiko."_

_He grinned. Takeshi's voice was a rumbling bass that vibrated his chest. He locked their fingers together and leaned up, meeting his blue-haired lover in a gentle kiss. When he pulled back, Takeshi's eyes were dark and full of lust._

"_I'm just glad you're here."_

"_As am I, Heart," Takeshi murmured. Takeshi's lips brushed along his jaw before the man pulled back with a playful grin. "What shall we do today, I wonder?"_

_He scoffed and pulled the man's lips to his for a slow, drugging kiss that made his skin tingle. Afterward, he drew back from the kiss only long enough to say softly against his lover's lips, "You'll make love to me."_

_The playfulness in Takeshi's eyes quickly disappeared as he nodded. "You read my mind, Akihiko."_

"-saki! Kurosaki! Wake up! Aw, shit, this ain't happenin'!"

Ichigo blinked a few times and squinted in the bright light of his closet. He looked around for the source of the ruckus and found Grimmjow kneeling beside him, eyes wide with frantic worry. Ichigo sat up, taking it slow as his hand went to the back of his head.

"Wha' the fuck happened?" he mumbled.

Grimmjow shook his head. "I don't know. I heard a thump and called ya, but ya didn't answer. When I came ta check on ya, you were passed out here on the floor. I should be askin' _you_ what the fuck happened? Didja fall or somethin'?"

Ichigo took another look around his closet, heart beginning to race. He remembered what happened now. He'd gone all dizzy before dreaming about Takeshi and Akihiko again. Only this time, it'd been different. Why had he passed out? Why hadn't the dream come to him while he was sleeping like it normally did? Some weird shit was going on.

"I tripped over somethin'," he lied, not willing to tell his captain the truth.

The man would think he was crazy for sure. Especially if Ichigo tried to explain Takeshi. That would be a complete disaster.

Grimmjow arched a brow, but nodded and helped Ichigo to his feet after standing himself. "Be careful. Ya scared the shit outta me."

Ichigo muttered an apology, mind still trying to make sense of what had just happened. What was he supposed to do now? What if the dreams started coming that way from now on?

_Shit_.

**Next time...**


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach...

**There may be errors because I was lazy and really didn't feel like proofreading this. It was 2:51 AM when I finished. Apologies...**

Onwards...

XOXOXO

Grimmjow watched Kurosaki's back as they left the younger man's bedroom. He didn't believe for one second that the center-fielder had "tripped over something." First of all, there hadn't been anything on the floor of Kurosaki's closet for him to fall over; second, even if there _had_ been (which there definitely _hadn't_), it still didn't warrant a complete case of unconsciousness from the younger man. Kurosaki's reaction had also been a big red flag waved in front of Grimmjow's face. The tell-tale wide eyes of confusion had raised the hairs on the back of Grimmjow's neck. Something was wrong with Kurosaki. He didn't know if it was an illness like narcolepsy, or if it was something more...mental.

They rounded the corner of the hallway and made a left into the cozy kitchen, where Kurosaki groggily traipsed over to the pantry. He held the narrow, wooden door open as he stared inside, his free hand scratching the back of his head. After a long few moments of silence, Kurosaki turned to Grimmjow and pinned him with an almost blank stare.

"You eat noodles?"

Grimmjow was startled by the question, even though he'd been somewhat expecting it. "I-I guess."

Kurosaki's head tilted as his brow furrowed with mild annoyance.

"You either do or you don't," he deadpanned.

"Yes, I do," Grimmjow gritted through clenched teeth.

He really wanted to lunge at the insufferable little asshole and knuckle his face unrecognizable, but figured Urahara wouldn't appreciate the early demise of the team's center-fielder. So, instead, he opted to clench his hands into fists at his sides as he internally counted backwards from ten. Kurosaki worked his nerves like a professional pest, shortening his patience in ways Grimmjow thought were impossible.

Kurosaki reached into the pantry and withdrew a bag of dry noodles and a few bottles of some type of dark liquid. The writing on the side was in a different language, and Grimmjow could only assume that it was Japanese. He watched the shorter man moving around the kitchen fluidly as he collected ingredients and pans, and got to work over the stove. Soon enough, the kitchen began smelling really good, causing Grimmjow's stomach to rumble anxiously. He sidled over to the small island and took a seat on one of the tall, wooden stools.

"I never would've pegged you for a cook, Kurosaki."

Kurosaki gave a careless shrug as he maneuvered a pan back and forth over a high flame. "I gotta eat, right?"

"True."

Still, it was a little surprising that Kurosaki was so efficient in the kitchen. Not only that, but the man's entire apartment was neat and tidy, everything in its proper place and without a speck of dust on it. Far from what Grimmjow had expected of his energetic teammate. Tired of the awkward silence, he covered his mouth with a fist and cleared his throat.

"So...Kurosaki..."

"Ichigo, Captain. Ichigo. We're teammates, and we're gonna be around each other for a long time. It'd be nice not to rely on surnames, dontcha think?"

"Fine. But that means you can't call me 'Captain', either."

"Deal," Kurosaki said as he paused and glanced over a broad shoulder with a wide, mischievous grin. "Grimmjow."

For some reason, the sound of that devil-may-care, low tenor had Grimmjow shifting on his stool, his warmup pants stretching a little too tightly across his lap. Deciding to change the subject post haste, he drummed his fingers along the island top and licked his lips.

"What are you making there, Ichigo?"

Kurosaki froze for a few seconds, making Grimmjow's eyebrows raise with curiosity. But just as quickly as the strange moment had appeared, it was gone. The orange-haired man went back to rotating the pan in his left hand as he cleared his throat.

"I'm making ramen. I like to saute my meat first, though."

"Ohhhh, I see. ...What's ramen?"

Kurosa – _Ichigo_ chuckled and shot Grimmjow a short glance, honey-brown eyes alive with amusement. "It's a dish with noodles, vegetables and sometimes meat. Like a soup."

"Is it good?"

"I like it."

Grimmjow nodded as he watched Ichigo shut off the flame and set the pan on the stove. He moved over to a large pot, where shredded carrots and celery were boiling away in a delicious-smelling broth. Ichigo dumped the freshly sauteed chunks of roast pork into the pot and replaced the lid. After that, he wiped his hands down the front of his pants and turned to Grimmjow with a friendly smile.

"It'll be done in a few."

Grimmjow nodded and pressed his lips into a thin line as Ichigo slid onto a stool directly across from him. He had a choice: he could face Ichigo's drilling, brown gaze, or he could chicken out and study the light-colored, granite island top. After a few agonizing moments of indecision, he inwardly snarled at himself. He'd never been a coward. With a swift resolve he didn't entirely agree with, he lifted his head and met Ichigo's eyes with his own.

For a while, all they did was stare at one another. Grimmjow felt a sudden rush of nostalgia and a deep something else that he couldn't quite identify. Ichigo looked _so_ familiar. Like Grimmjow had known him all his life. But that was _absurd_. There was no possible way that Grimmjow could have met Ichigo before he did. However, that still left the dreams. Kurosaki matched the young Akihiko feature for feature, mannerism for mannerism. It was downright eerie. Grimmjow didn't have a clue what any of it meant, but it was stressful to think about.

He carefully analyzed and compared Ichigo's light-brown cluster of freckles across the bridge of his nose and high cheeks to Akihiko's; his soulful, syrup-brown eyes, his tanned, flawless skin, and his atomic-orange hair all matched Akihiko's as well. The two talked alike, moved alike, and even shared similar personalities. None of it made any sense.

Finally, Ichigo smirked and tilted his head. "Anyone ever tell you how adorable you are?"

"What?" was Grimmjow's immediate response as he stared at Kurosaki, caught completely off guard. "You wanna say that again?"

"Haha! You see? You make such cute faces!"

Ichigo's accent was the only thing keeping Grimmjow in his seat. That and the man's damned dimples. There was something about Ichigo's smile that had the ability to arrest any and all of Grimmjow's movement and thought.

"I do not," he grumbled stubbornly. "Men don't do cute. We do sexy. Or ruggedly handsome – things along those lines; not _cute_."

Ichigo cackled as he climbed to his feet and went over to the gently gurgling pot. He dumped in a bag of noodles and stirred the contents around for a bit before replacing the lid and reclaiming his seat at the island. He shifted around, making himself comfortable, but all the while maintaining eye contact with Grimmjow.

"If you say so, Grimm-kun."

Grimmjow frowned. "Grimm-_jow_."

"What?"

"It's Grimm-_jow_. You said my name wrong."

Ichigo's brow wrinkled in obvious confusion as he shook his head minutely back and forth. His lips were parted as if he were on the verge of saying something, but no words were forthcoming. It was actually kind of funny to watch. Finally, it dawned on the younger man. Ichigo continued to shake his head as he gave a low rumble of laughter.

"No-no. 'Kun' is a suffix that we use in Japanese to refer to an associate or colleague. I wasn't mispronouncing your name."

Feeling a little foolish, Grimmjow pursed his lips and lowered his eyes. What now?

"Hey, don't be embarrassed, dude. You didn't know. That's my fault for not telling you beforehand. Though, I've never actually had to make an introduction to a nickname I had planned for someone before."

Ichigo was rambling. Grimmjow could see an embarrassed flush rising from the other man's neck, up towards his ears and cheeks. It was kind of endearing. So, the mighty Ichigo Kurosaki actually _did_ get flustered every now and then.

Suddenly, Ichigo snapped his mouth shut with a scowl down at the island top. It was almost as if he was scolding himself for something, if the look on his face was any indication. Ichigo was so unpredictable, but somehow, it intrigued Grimmjow and kept him coming back for more. He started to ask Ichigo a question, but before he could, the shorter man had jumped to his feet and shuffled over to the stove. Grimmjow watched the other man's fluid movements as Ichigo grabbed a couple of large, ceramic bowls from a cabinet above his stainless steel sink. Afterward, he filled each bowl with the steaming, heavenly-smelling soup. Or...what had Ichigo called it? Ramen?

Large hands covered with thick, black pot holders, Ichigo set the bowls on the island top before retreating to the expanse of counter beside the stove, where he removed the pot holders and carelessly tossed them aside. Grimmjow didn't even realize that he was grinning as he watched Ichigo saunter over to the refrigerator, grab a couple bottles of some organic kind of fruit juice, and pause in front of the drawer directly next to the fridge. By the time Ichigo made it back to the small island, Grimmjow's smile was showing teeth. He found it incredibly entertaining that Ichigo had such domesticated tendencies. Grimmjow, himself, couldn't cook to save his life and found the idea of doing laundry rather daunting...just like any other normal man. Ichigo just happened to be a part of a rare breed.

Ichigo settled himself on his stool again before sliding a long, thin, red package in Grimmjow's direction, along with one of the bottles of juice. It was the package that held his attention, though. He lifted his head to ask Ichigo about the strange item, when he noticed the orange-haired man pulling a pair of wooden sticks from the red paper wrapping. Afterward, Ichigo broke the sticks apart and positioned them between his fingers before lifting a cluster of noodles and a few shredded carrots to his mouth with them.

Grimmjow pursed his lips and studied his own set of chopsticks. He'd never used them before, but after seeing Ichigo use them so easily, he figured it couldn't be that difficult. He lifted the sticks from the wrapper and broke them apart, but when he went to bring some of his own noodles to his mouth, they slipped through the sticks, causing him to drop them in the large bowl. Already frustrated, he fished them out of the soup mixture and tried again. He was completely unaware of the amused brown eyes watching his every move. He tried three more times to feed himself with the wily chopsticks before he slapped them down on the table beside his bowl with an agitated huff. He rubbed his temples and closed his eyes.

_Fuck the chopsticks_.

A quiet chuckle pulled him from his misery and made him glance up at Ichigo, who was smiling at him the way a parent would at his infant child trying to walk for the first time. Grimmjow growled under his breath, angry with himself for forgetting that he had an audience. He didn't need Ichigo's pity or sympathy. He didn't want Ichigo to see him as a weakling, who couldn't even eat with a pair of chopsticks. He didn't want to seem inferior to the other man at all.

"Maybe you'll be better off with a fork."

"I can do it," Grimmjow grunted as he picked up the wooden utensils again.

He shot a quick glance in the direction of Ichigo's hand that was expertly holding the chopsticks before trying to imitate it himself. When he thought he had it, he tried to gather a few noodles between them, only to have the noodles slip back into the bowl. If Grimmjow listened carefully, he was positive he heard the noodles making fun of his failure. A soft scrape was the only warning Grimmjow got before Ichigo was standing beside him, his slightly calloused hand gently closing over Grimmjow's.

"You gotta relax. Don't grip 'em so tightly. Loose is the key here," Ichigo murmured, his voice low and almost intimate as he positioned the chopsticks between Grimmjow's fingers the correct way. "Now, try."

Grimmjow swallowed harshly as he did as Ichigo instructed. He tried to ignore the other man's comforting heat along his side, tried to ignore the feel of Ichigo's skin, Ichigo's cautious touch, his smell... He successfully lifted a cluster of noodles in the air with a faint grin before turning to Ichigo for approval. When they locked eyes, Ichigo smiled, but it faltered. Out of nowhere, it seemed like time came to a grinding halt. Tension climbed, the atmosphere thick with it until Grimmjow turned back to his bowl of ramen, heat gathering in his face.

_What the hell was that about?_

He was almost afraid to look the younger man in the eye again. What would he find this time? It was becoming increasingly more dangerous being around Ichigo. He was so good-looking and shamelessly himself that Grimmjow was finding it harder and harder to keep his hands off of the guy. Not to mention, Ichigo smelled mouthwatering. It was all Grimmjow could do not to sink his teeth into Ichigo's inviting, tanned skin. He concentrated on getting the food into his mouth and not the man making his way back to the seat across the island. It was probably the single most trying task he'd had to accomplish in his life. Not even making the pros came close.

He was far from an angel, and it _had_ been a while since he'd last gotten laid. _However_, Ichigo was off limits. Not only was he a fellow teammate, but Grimmjow had no idea whether Ichigo's sexual preference landed on that side of the fence or not. He couldn't just advance on the man without knowing that essential little fact. And then, there was the press to think about...it was all too much to risk for a quick romp in the hay, no matter how sexy Ichigo was.

And Ichigo was _indeed_ sexy.

XOXOXO

Ichigo watched his team captain with equal amounts of affection and amusement running through him. He didn't know what it was about the blue-haired man that made him want to cuddle him into his chest and kiss him to death, but it was getting damned near impossible to ignore. Grimmjow's struggle with his chopsticks had been cute enough, but the look on his face when he'd finally gotten it right had just been outright adorable. Like a kid who'd finally caught the hang of riding his bike without the training wheels.

At the moment, they were seated on the couch in the living room, Van Helsing playing loudly on the 60-inch flat screen mounted to the wall directly across from the long, plush, beige couch. Grimmjow was slumped down in the deep cushions, his incredibly blue eyes glazed over and distant. In fact, he seemed like he was on the verge of falling asleep. They were on opposite ends of the couch, and Ichigo was fighting the intense desire to scoot closer to the bigger man. Grimmjow exuded so much sex appeal and quiet power, it was distracting. He kept glancing over every so often at him, wondering how one man could look so damned good and not even seem to care.

Movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention, so he peered at his temporary house guest. Grimmjow was yawning, his eyes squeezed shut and hand covering his mouth. Afterward, he smacked his lips and seemed to slouch lower in his corner. Ichigo couldn't resist.

"Time for beddy-bye, old man?" he teased.

Grimmjow surprisingly didn't take the bait. He just smirked a little and let his eyes slide shut as he gave a short nod.

"Shouldn't have fed me. I hibernate after I eat."

"Obviously."

After a low chuckle, Grimmjow's head drifted over to the cushioned arm rest and his face relaxed as he surrendered to sleep. Ichigo buried the sudden urge to remove the blue-haired man's sneakers and help him get more comfortable, figuring the guy wouldn't like it very much. Grimmjow was picky and easily riled up, so it was hard to tell what would set him off. Ichigo didn't want to take the risk, though. He just quietly enjoyed the other man's company, even as Grimmjow caught some Zs. He was falling under the TV's hypnotizing spell when his cell phone began blaring and vibrating. Ichigo jumped hard and scrambled to silence the noisy device before it woke up his captain. Once he did, he checked Grimmjow's corner and couldn't hide a lopsided grin. The blue-haired man was still deeply asleep. He must have really been tired. He climbed to his feet and ambled into the kitchen, where he answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"ICHIGO, MY SONNNN! HOW IS AMERICA?!" his father's loud voice boomed through the speaker in broken English.

Ichigo lowered and shook his head as he smiled. Even though his father was kind of outrageous, he was still his old man, and Ichigo missed him.

"Hey, old man. America's still pretty cool. How is everything on your side of the world? How are the girls?"

"Ah! I've already sold the house and clinic. Now, we're just waiting for the next step. And the girls are just fine. They ask about you everyday."

"Have you guys been watching our games?"

"What a ridiculous question, my son! Of course, we have!"

Ichigo chuckled and ran a hand through his unruly hair. "OK, OK. I apologize for asking."

They fell into an easy silence, where Ichigo let his mind wander about his hometown and country. Although he liked America and it's new and interesting ways, he missed his home. He missed his old friends and hangouts, and he missed the food.

"Ichigo," his father started, voice serious and deep. "I'm very proud of you, my son."

The warm words made him blush and almost choke up. He wasn't used to his old man's sentimental side.

"Thanks, Dad," he said quietly. "Hey, look, I gotta run. I have company over, and I don't want to be rude."

He didn't think it was necessary to tell his father that his company had fallen asleep on his couch.

"Yes, yes," Isshin Kurosaki sighed. "You're all grown up now. Be sure to use a condom, and do-"

"Alright, later, old man," Ichigo cut in, his face growing hot from the thought of condoms and Grimmjow together. "Give the girls my love, and tell them to call me!"

He ended the connection before his father could respond. He loved his old man, but the guy could be so weird at times. After piddling around in the kitchen for a few more minutes, he made his way back into the living room, pausing next to Grimmjow. The man was still slumped against the armrest, bright blue hair spread out over the soft, beige material. Ichigo wanted to run his fingers through it in order to find out whether it was as soft as it looked. Just as he started towards the opposite end of the couch, Grimmjow shifted in place and mumbled something under his breath, his brow creasing into a small frown. Ichigo paused, foot raised in mid-step.

_What was that?_

He waited for a few more moments and was rewarded for his patience. Grimmjow moved again, this time, his right hand edging towards his groin. Ichigo hadn't even realized that the sleeping captain had a very real issue brewing in his warmup pants until the man's hand pulled his attention to it. The tent formed there was indeed impressive, with more than enough potential to make Ichigo lose his cool.

"God," Grimmjow whispered, his brow lowering into a more pleased scowl.

Ichigo's face ignited as he realized what was going on, and his lower half began to react as it further sunk in. _But no_, he thought with a grimace. _I can't let this get to me_. Grimmjow might not even be into men that way, and there was no chance that Ichigo was about to force himself on his captain. Didn't matter how gorgeous the man was, either. He steadied his balance by placing a hand on the armrest and taking a few deep breaths. He could get through this. He could ignore Grimmjow's obvious woody and watch the rest of _Major League_ like he'd started to before. He sucked down another lungful of determination before straightening his back. But as soon as he started to step over Grimmjow's long legs, the man sighed, the noise bleeding into a low, growling moan. It was unnerving, yet terribly arousing. Ichigo didn't know what to do.

"What the hell are you trying to do to me, Grimmjow?" he growled as he glared at the top of his captain's blue head.

Grimmjow mumbled again, but it was too low for Ichigo to catch. Therefore, he did a foolish thing: he lowered himself to his knees and put his ear as close as it could get to Grimmjow's mouth without disturbing the man's slumber. He was expecting Grimmjow to talk again; he wasn't expecting what happened next. As he sat waiting for Grimmjow's next mumbled statement, impatience crept in and made him turn his head to check the blue-haired man's status. When he did, he froze under the weight of Grimmjow's sea-blue stare. Ichigo fumbled around for an explanation of why he was so close to his teammate's face, but before he could get a word in edgewise, Grimmjow placed a hand at the back of his neck and drew him in for a kiss.

XOXOXO

_Akihiko was angry with him. He'd missed one of their dates because of pressing business with the emperor, and now, his beautiful Akihiko was giving him the silent treatment. He supposed it was a good thing that the man had even bothered to show in the first place, but he was too distraught to consider it at the time. _

"_Forgive me, Akihiko," he pleaded._

_The orange-haired man stubbornly turned his nose up at him and continued to pout and ignore him. He'd had enough. He'd suffered as well, missing his lover so much that it had made his gut ache. Yet, here he was being ignored for something that had been far beyond his control. He gently but firmly gripped Akihiko by the upper arms and pulled the shorter man to his chest._

"_I missed you too," he growled._

_Akihiko's enchanting brown eyes went wide as he stared. Then, they softened as he smiled._

"_You mean that? You aren't getting tired of me?"_

"_I could never," he murmured into his lover's sensitive ear. "I love you too much."_

_Akihiko's face turned a charming shade of maroon as he lowered his eyes. For such an exquisite being, Akihiko had such low self-esteem. It made him wonder what had happened in his past to make him turn out that way. _

"_I love you too, Takeshi."_

_He leaned in and connected their lips briefly before pulling back to study his lover's face. He was so lucky to have met Akihiko. He was certain he never would have known the wondrous feeling of being in love and being loved in return had it not been for the man standing in his arms. He never wanted their time together to end. As he gazed into Akihiko's maple-brown eyes, his heart squeezed painfully. He tried to forget about the conversation he'd had with the emperor the day before, but it was impossible. The villagers were planning to revolt very soon, and he knew that it would place himself and Akihiko at odds, which he just couldn't stand to think about. _

_What would he do without Akihiko?_

_Just the thought alone sent a powerful surge of emotion crashing over him as he looked deep into Akihiko's eyes. He couldn't even stomach losing him._

Grimmjow felt warmth next to his face and blinked a few times before realizing that he was still almost nose-to-nose with Akihiko. Still spurred on by his previous emotions, he put his hand at the back of the orange-haired man's neck and pulled him in for another kiss. This time, however, Akihiko seemed to be stiff. In fact, the longer their lips remained connected, the more it felt as though Akihiko was paralyzed with shock. But that wasn't right. Determined to get Akihiko's nearly wanton responsiveness back, Grimmjow deepened the kiss, parting his lips and sweeping his tongue across the shorter man's lower lip. Akihiko sucked in what sounded like a startled breath, but hesitantly raised a hand and let it settle on Grimmjow's right shoulder.

That was a little better, but Grimmjow wanted more.

Once Akihiko allowed him entrance to the inside of his mouth, Grimmjow aggressively plundered it, the fingers at the back of Akihiko's neck idly toying with silken, orange hair. The kiss became heavy and urgent, Akihiko's hands traveling over Grimmjow's chest as he slowly sat up and pulled the other man closer to him. They were both moaning and groaning when a few things started to seem odd to Grimmjow. For one thing, Akihiko's scent was a little off. He didn't smell as earthy as he normally did. In fact, he didn't even taste the same. Grimmjow frowned and gradually ended the kiss, though he really didn't want to. As he pulled away, he focused on Akihiko's face and promptly felt all the blood drain from his own. His stomach seemed to drop out of his ass and his eyes bugged as he slowly looked around. There were no trees, no Roman and Lily, no open field...just a lust-filled, orange-haired center-fielder, staring at him with hooded, brown eyes.

"What's wrong?" Ichigo rumbled as he leaned forward and buried his nose against the side of Grimmjow's neck. "Why'd you stop?"

Unable to form words, Grimmjow shot to his feet, almost knocking over his teammate in the process. His breathing was harsh, and his heart was absolutely racing as he tried to figure out what to do. How the fuck had something like this happened? Had he been sleepwalking or something?

_Just what the actual fuck?_

"I-I...I...I..." he stuttered, feeling and looking like a fool.

Ichigo stood as well, obviously confused. He tilted his head in question as his eyes seemed to pick apart Grimmjow's fighting spirit. He was in the throes of a full-blown panic attack, or more accurately, a nervous breakdown. But as he stood there, waiting for Ichigo to say or do something that would give him a clue of what to do next, his mind just happened to slow down and think. Ichigo hadn't been resisting his advances. Granted, he'd been asleep and not really aware of who he'd been kissing at the time, but he hadn't been so far gone that he hadn't recognized the eagerness in Ichigo's kiss. Once they'd gotten started, things had careened along recklessly until Grimmjow had pulled the emergency brake. So...did that mean... By the way Ichigo was looking at him now, and by what Ichigo had asked him after Grimmjow had put an end to their lip-lock, it didn't seem like Ichigo had minded one bit.

Grimmjow thought about how risky it was, what they were doing. He thought about the press, and how they would have a field day if they found out about what was going on right now. He thought about all the possible negative outcomes of him and Ichigo getting together, but it still didn't stand up to the pulling in his gut that inevitably drew him closer to the younger man.

"To hell with it," he muttered.

He stalked over to Ichigo and wrapped his arms around him as he hurriedly reconnected their lips. In no time at all, they were kissing and desperately tearing at one another's clothing. Grimmjow was drunk with desire and giddy with lust. He wanted to make his insufferable teammate squeal and moan and all types of other wonderful things. He was officially a man on a mission.

**I know it's been a long time coming. Sorry for the wait, and thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach...

Onwards...

XOXOXO

God, this was _it_.

Ichigo pulled out of the hurried kiss and grabbed his captain by the hand. With a sly wink, he led the man back to his bedroom, where he let go of the larger hand in his and crawled onto his bed. He turned onto his back and propped himself up by his elbows, his eyes hungrily following the blue-haired man edging towards him. When Grimmjow had kissed him earlier, Ichigo had thought the man was playing a prank. He wouldn't put it past the captain, but he couldn't deny how much he'd enjoyed it. How much he'd thought about him himself. How much he'd _wanted_ it.

Grimmjow's normally cool, blue eyes were lit with a fiery passion as he climbed onto the bed and nudged his way between Ichigo's legs. Once there, they resumed kissing, slow and with purpose. Ichigo allowed his mind to drift away, his body taking the lead. He lifted a hand and placed it behind Grimmjow's neck, his fingers toying with the soft blue hair at his captain's nape. Grimmjow growled and pressed Ichigo's back against the mattress, where he rolled his hips, his urgent need poking at Ichigo's pelvis. An abundance of heat spread throughout Ichigo as he bit back a moan. He didn't want to seem overeager, but the taller man's body, those hard muscles and soft skin, was driving him nuts. Grimmjow felt and tasted like so much man, it was overwhelming. The other man's hand slid under Ichigo's t-shirt, bat-callused fingers gliding over a sexually tensed abdomen. Ichigo separated their faces, his head falling back as that same hand slowly traveled up to his chest, the strong fingers playing with his right nipple. He had never been proud of having sensitive nipples – often thinking it made him too similar to a woman – but having Grimmjow tease and arouse them was too erotic and pleasurable to ignore.

Ichigo moaned, his breath catching in his throat when Grimmjow's hand slipped down his torso and slid over his lap. When the blue-haired man wrapped a hand around Ichigo's clothed erection, Ichigo arched his back and hissed. Yeah, he needed more of that. He grabbed Grimmjow's hand and pressed down, inviting more friction, more pressure. Grimmjow smirked, his blue eyes dancing with lust and arrogance. He leaned forward and brushed his nose against Ichigo's cheek before kissing it softly.

"You like when I touch you there?"

Ichigo almost melted into the bed. His whole body was screaming for contact, his temperature and heart rate through the roof.

"Yes, yes! Don't stop. _Please_, don't stop."

Grimmjow's resulting growl was probably the sexiest thing Ichigo had ever heard in his life. Grimmjow's hands were on the move again, this time both of them sliding under Ichigo's shirt and lifting towards his neck. Ichigo understood the implied suggestion, so he sat up and helped Grimmjow remove the item. It was tossed over the side of the bed without a second glance. Ichigo started to pull Grimmjow back down on top of him, but Grimmjow resisted, instead leaning back on his haunches and staring down at Ichigo's torso. A moment of playfulness overcame Ichigo, making him ease his arms behind his head.

"You like?" he asked, voice low and thick with lust. "I got more where this came from. Wanna go lower?"

Grimmjow snorted, but his eyes told the truth of the matter. They were shining in the darkened bedroom, the only other light emitting from the moon through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Grimmjow tugged his own t-shirt over his head and tossed it away. Ichigo's teasing mood stalled as he stared in appreciation at his captain's upper body. Everything was perfect. His trunk was thick and solid, his abdomen defined with sharp, precise dips and cuts. And then there were the man's Adonis lines that were so loudly pronounced, Ichigo found it hard to keep his eyes off of them. _His_ weren't even that attention-grabbing. Besides, it didn't help that Grimmjow's warm up pants had slipped low on his hips, riding below the elastic band of his underwear. Ichigo reached forward, enchanted by the line of sky-blue hair that began at the man's navel and marched its way out of sight. When Ichigo traced the fine hairs with his fingertips, Grimmjow's abdomen shuddered. Ichigo grinned.

"Sexy," he mumbled.

His hand had a mind of its own. It dipped between Grimmjow's powerful thighs and wrapped around the impressive length straining in those warm up pants. Grimmjow was thick and maybe a couple inches over average length. As a matter of fact, it felt like Ichigo had his hand tight around a cucumber. He bit his bottom lip and squeezed gently, his hand sliding up, and then down. He looked into his captain's face, carefully taking note of the man's reaction. Grimmjow's eyes were closed, and his lips were parted. His hips moved forward the tiniest fraction before his eyes snapped open and his hands went to the waistbands of his underwear and warm up pants. He tugged them down without hesitation, the movement forcing Ichigo's hand away from that tempting piece of flesh and simultaneously bringing it springing into view. It slapped against his lower abdomen, hard as a rock, and the skin a shade or two darker than the rest of him.

Ichigo licked his lips, unconsciously climbing to his knees. His eyes were glued to Grimmjow's member, his hand outstretched and seconds away from contact...when Grimmjow redirected his attention, pulling him into those strong arms and pressing their lips together. Ichigo wanted that, but he wanted Grimmjow naked a little more. His hands ran around the small of Grimmjow's back before sliding over the man's firm bottom and squeezing. Ichigo closed his eyes and moaned, his thoughts on how nice it would be to repeat that action while his captain was buried inside of him. His body flushed and his nipples tightened even more. He backed out of the kiss, breathless.

"Take these off," he said.

Grimmjow didn't bother arguing. He nodded and divested himself of the cumbersome warm up pants and his black boxer briefs. They hadn't even hit the floor good before he was reaching for Ichigo again. Ichigo smirked at the want pouring off of his captain, knowing that it matched his own. It was excruciating keeping such a gorgeous man at bay with teasing foreplay.

"Wait. I wanna take my stuff off, too."

A muscle in Grimmjow's jaw twitched, but still he said nothing and did nothing. Though, his hands did tighten into fists while he watched Ichigo undress with the eyes of a hawk. Ichigo made short work of his own clothing before tossing them aside. Naked, he slid towards Grimmjow on his knees. They were both on their knees in the middle of the bed by now, and Grimmjow wasted no time pulling Ichigo to his chest, both large hands on Ichigo's hips.

And then they were kissing again, this time, the feel of bare skin on bare skin adding gas to the flame. Grimmjow's sharp teeth nipped at Ichigo's bottom lip before that experienced tongue slid back into Ichigo's mouth, searching out every little space. Meanwhile, Grimmjow's hands had gone south, each one attached to a firm cheek. He kneaded and lifted Ichigo against him with a guttural growl, their lengths rubbing hard together, and it was all Ichigo could do not to make a fool of himself. He gripped the taller man's broad shoulders, his head falling back as Grimmjow's mouth traveled down to his neck.

He'd known his captain was strong and aggressive when he wanted to be, but seeing it in the bedroom was another story. He gasped and panted, shock rippling through him at just how _good_ Grimmjow felt all over him, and how nice it was to give control to someone else for a while. And boy, was Grimmjow in control. Ichigo didn't even realize Grimmjow could be so assertive outside of the baseball field, considering how socially awkward he was. But then again, Ichigo had realized that the man held a sense of quiet power that had to be released in some shape or form. Grimmjow couldn't just keep it bottled up inside _all_ the time.

Grimmjow's teeth were at Ichigo's collar bone, gently scraping before they were replaced by soft lips and a wet tongue. Ichigo held his breath as a warm line ran up and down the side of his neck before returning to his collar. Grimmjow freed one of his hands and slid it up over Ichigo's side, caging Ichigo's ribs, while the other hand snaked its way around Ichigo's hip and between his legs. Ichigo's breath left him in a rush as Grimmjow's hand slowly pumped his arousal. Blue eyes watched him, a bit of amusement underlying the wealth of need shown in them. One thing Ichigo had been expecting that hadn't occurred yet was Grimmjow's arrogance. Ichigo expected a narcissist in the bedroom; not this quiet predator; not this hunter, who seemed to bide his time, waiting for the perfect moment to spring his trap. Even though Ichigo hadn't expected it, it turned him on so much, he thought he'd die from it.

Grimmjow's hand sped up as he kissed Ichigo again. It was slow and warm, and Ichigo couldn't take it. All he could do was hold on to the man's shoulders and try not to drown in the sensations flowing over him. And then, Grimmjow's wicked wicked free hand left Ichigo's side and slid around to Ichigo's ass again. A long finger brushed over his opening, making Ichigo jump, their faces separating while he grunted. This was insane. He'd never been this worked up before.

"Mmm," Grimmjow hummed.

His eyes were still on Ichigo's face, but they weren't amused anymore. They were serious and full of determination. Ichigo refused to be the only one writhing in lust here. He leaned forward, placing a hand on Grimmjow's chest and forcing the man to tilt backwards. Then, Ichigo gently grabbed hold of the man's standing desire, anxious to have Grimmjow feel what he felt. The captain gave a quick sigh through his nose before those eyes lowered to Ichigo's hand. His hips moved back and forth, urging Ichigo to move faster. That was when the overwhelming press to feel the man in his mouth took over him. He slid both hands over Grimmjow's thighs and pushed. Not hard enough to take him off balance, but enough to imply that he wanted Grimmjow to sit on his heels. The captain caught on and did as requested, bracing his weight on his hands. Ichigo felt like a kid in Toyland. Grimmjow's erection was pointing right at him, stiff and occasionally twitching.

Ichigo went down on all fours and moved in, one hand wrapping around the thick base of his captain's length. He swiped at the head with his tongue, tasting, testing. He heard Grimmjow's low grunt and looked up, smug satisfaction setting in at the hooded blue eyes and smoldering desire in them. That was all the encouragement he needed. He took Grimmjow into his mouth, slowly wetting the shaft and hiding a grin when Grimmjow's hand crept into his hair. The blue-haired man tasted like clean skin and an undertone of musk that made Ichigo hum with delight. He wanted more, and he knew just how to get it.

His lips and tongue slid along ridged veins and rippled flesh, his heart racing. He used his hand to stimulate the rest of the impressive member that his mouth couldn't reach, twisting and stroking. Grimmjow hissed and Ichigo glanced up at him. Heat filled his lower region at the sight of his captain staring down at him, blue eyes narrowed and bottom lip tucked between perfect teeth. He reached between his own legs with his free hand and tugged, desperate for fulfillment. But he was really enjoying the sounds and looks from Grimmjow, so he picked up his pace. He took in as much of the man's arousal as he could, removing his hand from the base of the shaft. He almost gagged, but breathed deeply through his nose and fervently continued. He sucked harder, sometimes slowing to concentrate on the sensitive head before resuming pace. A growl from above made him look up again. The hand in his hair tightened as Grimmjow bared his teeth and hissed.

"Right there," the captain rumbled quietly.

Ichigo bobbed his head faster, his own erection hardening with more urgency. This was better than anything he'd dreamed. He ran a hand up Grimmjow's taut abdomen, teasing the man's navel and those fascinating hairs again. The sounds they were making probably would have been considered disgusting: wet and sloppy. His other hand slid up and over one of Grimmjow's ass cheeks, tightening and guiding the man's rapid thrusts. It kind of took Ichigo by surprise when Grimmjow pulled him away from the still hard length. Saliva dripped onto the bed as Ichigo was firmly tugged towards Grimmjow's chest.

Grimmjow's lips were on his again, and that shocked Ichigo even further. He'd been expecting some type of snappy comment, or even words heated with lust. But, no. Grimmjow was a man on a mission. He clearly had no time to waste on mere words. The captain's mouth and tongue were aggressive, plundering Ichigo's and leaving him weak-kneed.

The next thing he knew, he was on his back, Grimmjow slithering over him and kneeing his legs apart. They were kissing again, but not for long. Grimmjow's lips moved over Ichigo's jaw and down to his neck, where Grimmjow kissed and sucked, surely leaving marks that would stick around for a few days. His hand was busy between Ichigo's legs, stroking and stimulating the head of Ichigo's erection with a roughened thumb pad. Ichigo threw his head back, cutting himself off mid-moan with a closed fist. It was too much. He rotated his hips, aching, wanting, _needing_.

Grimmjow answered him a hundred fold.

The captain left wet kisses all over Ichigo's chest before he drew a nipple between his lips. Ichigo squeezed his eyes shut, his body shuddering. It wasn't fair. Grimmjow still had a hand on Ichigo's length, and it was killing him. His desire was so pointed, it almost seemed to have a mind of its own.

"Fuck," he whispered, unable to contain himself.

Grimmjow hummed against his chest before releasing Ichigo's nipple and moving on to the next one. Ichigo almost whimpered, it felt so good. Everything was hot and straining for release. He panted into his fist, sweat collecting at his brow. He was trying so hard not to come undone, but Grimmjow was absolutely _wonderful_ in bed. God, he should have known. His nipple was finally freed, but Grimmjow's mouth wouldn't rest. He licked wet lines down Ichigo's abdomen, dipped his tongue into Ichigo's navel, teased the sensitive area above Ichigo's manhood. It was utter madness in the best way possible. Ichigo twisted and squirmed in place, anxious to feel Grimmjow's dexterous tongue on another part of his anatomy.

He didn't have to wait long.

Grimmjow spread his legs and lifted them by the backs of Ichigo's knees. Then, he swept his tongue along Ichigo's sac in one long, firm stripe before sucking one of Ichigo's balls into his mouth. Ichigo couldn't take it. His head whipped to the side as his brows creased with pleasure.

"Ahh!" he cried out. "Shit!"

His body trembled under Grimmjow. The captain had to know the effect he had on Ichigo. He had to. Ichigo was panting, but he didn't even have time to recover before his entire sac filled Grimmjow's mouth and undulated against the man's tongue. He grasped a fistful of blue hair and groaned, his shaft twitching mightily. The head was nearly turning purple and leaked like it was weeping. Grimmjow hummed and slid his hand along the rigid length, smearing the pre-cum. Ichigo's knees fucking shook as he tried to keep a lid on his control. He was failing miserably, though.

Grimmjow's long firm hand strokes were punctuated by low hums and a constantly moving tongue. He couldn't take it. He couldn't _take_ it. His toes were curling, and Grimmjow hadn't even officially sucked him off yet. Just as the thought crossed his mind, his sac was released, Grimmjow's warm saliva quickly cooling in the air. Ichigo thought he would have a moment to collect himself, but he was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Grimmjow let go of one of Ichigo's knees and wrapped long fingers around the base of Ichigo's length. He didn't wait for a go-ahead signal; he just dove right in, his mouth taking Ichigo in like a shelter. Grimmjow hummed again and closed his eyes, but Ichigo held onto the man's hair for dear life, his other hand grasping the sheets.

He never would have thought his cold, awkward captain would be so talented in the bedroom. It was like a starving beast had been freed from its cage. Ichigo hissed as Grimmjow's lips slid over him, and moaned when Grimmjow's tongue formed a vice with the roof of his mouth, trapping Ichigo's desire and milking it for all it was worth. The pace the man set was slow at first, exploratory and curious, but once Grimmjow grew accustomed to Ichigo's prize, he set about working it into a lather. And the noises...

Ichigo's back arched off the bed as he moaned, mouth hanging open. He felt so wanton, so desperate. His hips moved on their own, winding and thrusting into that heated cavern. He was dying a wonderful death. Just when he felt blood boiling within his shaft and balls, Grimmjow pulled away. Ichigo was wild with confusion as he sat up and stared at his blue-haired captain.

"Wh-wha-" he started.

"Not yet," Grimmjow murmured as he climbed on top of Ichigo. "Not yet."

"Oh, my God," Ichigo moaned in dismay. "Mmm, I just..."

Grimmjow kissed him, effectively cutting off his complaints. He dipped his tongue into Ichigo's mouth a few times, making sure to stir the burning embers before he pulled back and shook his head.

"Not yet."

There was no teasing gleam, no amusement, nothing that hinted that Grimmjow was playing with him. Something hungry was alive and stalking behind the blue of Grimmjow's eyes, and Ichigo wasn't sure he knew how to handle it.

He would damned sure try, though.

XOXOXO

He felt like a demon. His body was alive with something he couldn't quite identify, but he was loving every second of it. Ichigo was completely at his mercy, and the delicious sounds the orange-haired man had been making that night would be forever stamped into Grimmjow's memory bank. The sights, the smells: all of it made his body react as though he was a predator. Ichigo's brown eyes were like chocolate in the sun, hooded and dazed. It was clear that the center-fielder was losing his grip on reality. Grimmjow liked that.

He was aware of how socially awkward he could be. Sure, the team was cool with him, but that was because they were like his family. He was around them all the time. However, when it came to interacting with the general population, he totally sucked at it. And it didn't help that he was something of a celebrity. People were no longer just curious about him, they were aggressive and demanding, most times entitled, money-hungry jerks. Why should he have to deal with that? It put a damper on his love life, of course, as well as the fact that he was gay. He couldn't necessarily have an open relationship without suffering the public's consequences. But _this_...this that he had with Ichigo was private. No one had to know, and he was free to do whatever he liked, however he liked. It was freeing in so many ways. And Ichigo was extremely attractive. Not to mention responsive as hell.

Grimmjow kissed Ichigo again, a soft peck on the lips that left the orange-haired man wanting more. Grimmjow could see it in the man's honey-brown eyes.

"Not yet," he said again.

Ichigo whined, though he seemed like he was trying to hide it. It made Grimmjow's body ache with lust. He crawled back over Ichigo's lap, brushing his nose against the man's arousal. Ichigo was about average length, but it was so sensitive. Grimmjow didn't even have to touch it for it to twitch and yearn for attention. He lifted Ichigo's legs by the backs of the knees again, this time dipping his tongue a little below the center-fielder's sac. _There_. That tiny stretch of skin that led to where he really wanted to be. He slid his tongue over it, savoring Ichigo's gasp of pleasure before languidly moving lower. He circled the younger man's opening, closing his eyes when Ichigo's hand plowed back into his hair. He pressed harder on Ichigo's knees, presenting more of the man's bottom. Ichigo was panting, his chest heaving, his body covered with a fine sheen of sweat.

_He'd_ done that. _He'd_ turned such a willful, stubborn brat into a writhing pile of wanton mess. And all with his mouth. He hadn't even gotten to the good part yet.

He Frenched Ichigo's opening, making sure to keep the man steady with both hands on Ichigo's knees. He could feel them quaking and knew that if he let go, he'd be choked by a pair of powerful thighs. But he needed a few fingers. He let go of one knee and Ichigo hooked it over Grimmjow's shoulder. _Safe, for now_, he thought. He took his index finger and pressed it against Ichigo's tightness, while he sucked Ichigo's shaft back into his mouth. The center-fielder's reaction was instant. His back left the bed, the foot on Grimmjow's back dug its heel into Grimmjow's shoulder...and Ichigo _moaned_.

Grimmjow's groin tightened as he moved against the bed. He wanted more, but he had to be patient. Judging by the tightness under his finger, it had to have been some time since Ichigo had received anyone. Grimmjow stopped and looked up. Ichigo had his eyes screwed shut and head thrown back against a pillow. The sight was so incredible.

"Ichigo," he called. Ichigo's chest heaved a couple of times before he slowly lifted his head and peered down at Grimmjow. "Do you have any lubricant?"

At first, Ichigo seemed like he didn't understand. He gave Grimmjow a blank stare before it must have finally registered.

"Oh, yeah," he answered, breathless. He pointed to the night stand next to his bed. "In there somewhere."

"Can you reach it? I'd hate to move right now."

Ichigo chuckled as he turned onto his side towards the night stand. "I'd hate for you to move, too."

He could be patient when he wanted, particularly with his team, but right now his blood was boiling. His body was struggling to keep calm, when all it really wanted to do was divide and conquer. Grimmjow smirked when Ichigo finally produced a small bottle of lubricant. It was brand new, the seal unbroken. It was comforting to know that Ichigo hadn't used it yet. It was possible that he'd only replaced an old one with the new, but Grimmjow had a feeling this bottle hadn't been used because Ichigo hadn't gotten around to it yet.

Grimmjow ripped the plastic with his teeth and twisted off the cap. There was another seal keeping the fluid inside. He tore through that one as well before replacing the cap and setting the bottle aside. Now he could concentrate on what he had in mind. Ichigo's hand crept back to his hair, which made Grimmjow glance up at the center-fielder, curious.

"Just gettin' ready."

He chuckled at that. Ichigo had ways about him that were so irresistible. He brushed aside the playful mood when his own length rubbed against the bed as he shifted into a more comfortable position. He grunted and went back to the tempting bottom raised before him. His tongue was moving again, slow, determined strokes along Ichigo's opening. The orange-haired man jumped and sighed, the noise bleeding into a quiet moan as his fingers massaged Grimmjow's scalp. Grimmjow closed his eyes, enjoying the moment before he opened them and went back to it with more fervor than he'd started with. He was filled with the need to release after experiencing Ichigo's mouth on him.

Grimmjow opened the cap of the lubricant, poured about a teaspoon onto his fingers, and spread the cool liquid over Ichigo's opening and the surrounding area. Then, using one finger he pressed against the tight orifice, alternating between circling and more pressure. Ichigo's hips rotated as his breathing deepened. Grimmjow wanted to scream, he was so ready to just _get in there_, but he knew he would hurt Ichigo if he rushed. He pressed again, this time submerging his fingertip. Ichigo gasped and pushed into Grimmjow's hand, making blue eyebrows fly under blue bangs. He'd only meant to give the younger man a sampling by settling at the first knuckle, testing how much Ichigo was willing to take at a time. This surpassed his expectations, and it was a good thing. He twisted his finger and passed it in and out before crooking it down towards the bed.

"Yes!" Ichigo gasped.

Grimmjow took his time. He paced himself, stretching and thrusting, adding two more fingers. Even when he thought Ichigo was ready, he kept going. He wanted to be sure. Besides, he was engrossed in the way Ichigo's cries grew breathier and needier as time marched on. However...his tightly reined control slipped when Ichigo tightened around his fingers until it was almost impossible to withdraw them. Grimmjow growled, his own desire swirling around him like smoke. Once Ichigo calmed from his most recent spasm of pleasure, Grimmjow claimed his fingers and climbed over the shorter man. Ichigo's brown eyes were so hooded, they were damned near closed, and his entire body was feverish. His hands came up around Grimmjow's neck, and his legs locked around Grimmjow's waist.

"_O-Onegai_," Ichigo whispered, voice frantic. His fingers dug into Grimmjow's skin. "_Hayaku!_"

He didn't know what the hell Ichigo was saying, but it was _hot_. The words entered his mind and took root until he was certain he would never forget what they sounded like coming from those full lips. He leaned over and kissed Ichigo, aggressive and urgent. It felt like he was swallowing fire. Everything was heating with anticipation as he rubbed himself between Ichigo's lower cheeks. Ichigo tossed his head and gave a low, keening whine, eyebrows creased together in painful-looking bliss.

"_Madamada_," Ichigo growled, lifting the hairs on the back of Grimmjow's neck. "_Mazu!_"

_Jesus_. Grimmjow reached below Ichigo's bottom and grabbed the lubricant. He hurriedly slicked the substance over his length and gently probed. He still didn't want to hurt Ichigo, but all of that went out of the window when Ichigo _lifted_, and Grimmjow _plunged_.

To hell with it. Ichigo wanted it just as badly as he did.

He hooked Ichigo's legs over his shoulders and rolled his hips, settling himself as deep as he could. Ichigo's back arched again, and his nails scraped the skin of Grimmjow's neck. Grimmjow growled, no longer able to restrain himself. He began pounding, harder and harder, until he was panting and grunting with exertion. Ichigo started off with deep moans, but then he was crying out with each long thrust. Nothing the younger man uttered made any sense to Grimmjow, but the way Ichigo said it made the difference. His voice had gone low and guttural, husky and desperate. Grimmjow answered him with his body.

The bed made so much noise against the wall, and their skin slapped together so loudly, Grimmjow was sure Ichigo's neighbors were ready to complain. He couldn't stop, though. His body was a blaze, searching and driving towards that final release. Ichigo stared up at him, brown eyes liquid with passion. They were no longer human; more like animals rutting to an ancient tune. Grimmjow tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, his hips twisting with each downward motion, grinding into the lithe body beneath him. He felt like a warrior during a conquest. It was _glorious_. Ichigo was just as lively. His body was in constant motion, yearning, receiving, _giving_. His legs were shaking, so Grimmjow held them steady as he continued driving himself forward.

He was _there_. So was Ichigo. Ichigo urged him on with forceful words spoken in what had to be the man's native tongue. Grimmjow didn't know what they meant, but he liked the way they spilled from Ichigo's mouth. The spring in his belly was tight as a bungee cord, and it snapped when Ichigo's insides tightened with his release. Wet heat pooled against Grimmjow's lower abdomen as he slammed himself to victory with a few, hard thrusts. His mind turned to static, and everything went quiet like he was stuck in a vacuum as he rode the high of his orgasm. He felt drunk as hell when he started his descent. Everything turned to jello, especially his arms. He lowered Ichigo's legs to the bed, his vision focusing in on the other man's prone body.

Ichigo had his eyes closed and his arms splayed wide. He was breathing like they'd just come from a hard practice, and his tanned skin shone with sweat. He was _beautiful_. Grimmjow eased out of the center-fielder and laid on his side next to him, his head turned so he could watch Ichigo's serene face.

He didn't know what to say. Everything had happened so quickly and ended just the same. What was Ichigo thinking? Was he upset? Or was he satisfied? Grimmjow couldn't really tell from the lack of expression. He hadn't meant to be so wild or abrupt, but his instincts had overtaken him until he'd felt nothing but need. His blood had raged through his body with it, screaming and rushing. He inhaled deeply, still catching his breath.

Finally, Ichigo stirred. He ran a hand across his face and wiped sweat from his brow, his head casually turning in Grimmjow's direction. Grimmjow held his breath. What now? Ichigo's damp hand reached over and rested on Grimmjow's chest as Ichigo lazily scooted closer.

"You surprised me, Grimmjow."

"What?" he blurted as air rushed from his lungs. "What d'you mean?"

Ichigo smirked. "That was..." he shook his head. "That was...just _wow_."

Grimmjow put an arm across Ichigo's waist and pulled him to his chest, breathing in his scent. It was a mingled combination of the both of them, and Grimmjow liked it. He kissed Ichigo's forehead.

"I hope that's a good wow."

"_Baka_."

"Don't curse at me."

Ichigo chortled into Grimmjow's chest, his fingers idly running across the moist skin. "I called you an idiot. Of course, that was a good wow."

Smug satisfaction hummed through him as he pillowed Ichigo's head with his free arm. He grinned. "I thought so."

"Liar."

They were silent after that, but it wasn't awkward anymore. It was comfortable and pleasant – something Grimmjow could definitely get used to. He closed his eyes, enjoying the nearness of Ichigo's body and the soothing heat emanating from it. He didn't even realize it when he drifted off.

**Thanks for reading. I didn't proofread, so forgive any errors, please!**

**Onegai – Please**

**Hayaku – Fast/Quick**

**Madamada – More**

**Mazu! - Now! **

**Baka – Stupid/Idiot**


End file.
